


Short Story collection

by Depravity



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Either way in one way or another it's depraved., I plan on writing mostly stancest., I'm open for suggestions. This is the point where I wink at you., Lots of hurt and little comfort., M/M, Maybe even depraved excellency., Multiverse Shenanigans, Some depraved bullshit I come up with.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-18 11:13:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 40,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13680537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Depravity/pseuds/Depravity
Summary: A bunch of nasty short stories.Chapter1: One of Many. Ford collects Stans from different dimensions to play house and finances himself by renting them boys out to Ricks.Chapter2: Ghost in the Bum. Stan tells Fiddleford he has a possessed prostate. Fiddleford is worried. Ford is not amused.Chapter3: Teacher's Pet. A run of the mill 2 Fords fic with teacher-student dynamics.Chapter4: One of Many 2. Meanwhile, after breakfast.NextplannedChapter: Forget about me. Ford takes care of amnesiac Stan and the guilt is slowly killing him.





	1. One of Many

**Author's Note:**

> If you are reading this you must crave to read some depraved bullshit. Welcome.

“Come on, he'll have some fun and gain some unique experience, I'm gonna- I- " he burps, "I'm not gonna let him come to harm. He's old enough, you worn-out softie. Besides, what are you even gonna do with so many of them? What is one more or less to you at this point? Little reminder here that I- that if I wanted to I could just take one and leave.”

“Pah! I want to see you _try_ , Sanchez!” Stanford spits at the lanky old geezer next to him who just continues to smirk in a way Stan 039 could only call condescending.

Stan 039 returns his attention to the stove where it belongs, tries not to think about the tense faces behind him that are like mirror images of his own. Let the old men argue, it's got nothing to do with him. His biggest concern right now should be not to let anything burn.

It's nothing unusual for a Rick to show up in their home outside of Stanford's working hours, even for one to invade their kitchen rather than wait at the office isn't too out of the ordinary, Ricks are dicks like that. Still, he just doesn't have a good feeling about this one and by the look of it the surrounding Stans don't like the guy's gall either.

“Oh, you will. I'm just informing you beforehand so you know to blame yourself when one of your little lambs goes missing indefinitely.” he all but purrs and turns to have a good look at the little Stans sitting at the table who are trying to not catch his attention as they wait for food. Just ten minutes ago they were all so loud and rowdy and _lively_. Excitedly demanding breakfast.

“But if I can't have the little one then maybe... Hm. I think I like that one, what do you think, Fordsy?” The rude Rick points at Stan 058 and Stan 039 shudders when he see's the kid's expression morph into one of uncontained horror and the boy nearly drops his fork, barely catches it before it clatters over the edge of the table.

“Out of the question. He's only just turned eleven.” Stanford replies dryly and pulls a big carafe of juice from the fridge before placing it on the table but for once nobody reaches for it. They are obviously scared, too focused on the old men debating next to them.

Stanford rounds the table, walks past Stan 039 at the stove and starts to look for something in a cabinet next to him. He could have just asked Stan 039 to give him what he's looking for since he's taking care of stocking the kitchen a lot lately but Stanford's obviously just trying to look busy.

“Eleven is old enough for what I got in mind.” snorts the sleazebag and Stan 039 balls his fists at his sides has to concentrate on his pans with all his mind to not just lash out at the guy and break his face.

“If you don't leave now I _will_ report you,” Stanford growls out but still refuses to look the Rick in the face, as if acknowledging his presence visually was equal to agreeing with him.

“What for? This place is a big fat joke and you know it. It's a glorified citadel funded whorehourse. You're running a Rent-a-Stan. You can play family all you want but don't act so high and mighty, you're no better than me.” he laughs cruelly and finally, Stanford turns his head to glare at him. Something in Stan 039 tells him he lost to that Rick. “Everyone knows this is your personal playground. It's all thanks to you that Stans are becoming more and more of an accepted Morty alternative. Can you really blame the consumer for desiring the product you advertise?”

There is a long pause and he doesn't even need to turn around and look at the table to know that every single one of the boys is stiff as a board.

Stanford sighs, scowl still in place and turns back around to the cabinet, pulls out a can of peaches and slams it on the counter, frustrated. “Fourteen and up are available, my prices are non-negotiable. I only accept portal fluid as payment. I will need you to sign me a contract and read, not just look over but actually read and agree to the terms of service. Failure to comply will lead to strikes in your record. 3 strikes and you will be blacklisted, the citadel will redirect you to the blender dimension if you try to return here and-”

“Yeah yeah, I read all that crap on your homepage just point me to the ones here that are up for sale.”

“They are not for _sale_.” Stanford hisses, wide hands gripping the counter way too hard before he turns around and scans over the Stans at the table. He points out Stan 051, Stan 050, Stan 048, Stan 047, Stan 044, and finally Stan 039 in that order. The Rick gravitates immediately to Stan 051.

“That one it is then.” he lets a hand come down on the boy's shoulder who jumps and tries to lean out of the touch, eyes big and shiny as he turns his head to look at Stanford pleadingly. Mouth opening in protest but silenced with just one cold uncaring look from the man who just a minute ago wouldn't give up even one of them to the skinny old jackass.

“I'll get the contract ready after they finished breakfast.” it grits out of Stanford like sand in a pepper mill, he makes it obvious that he loathes this guy. He seems to loathe most if not all Ricks but the guys that invade his privacy like this always seem to be treated with not even a minimum of basic politeness. He likes that about Stanford, makes him more human.

“Do it now. I don't feel like sticking around here longer than I have to. This sickeningly sweet play pretend happy family shtick is making me nauseous.”

Stanford stops dead in his tracks to glare, not at Rick but into thin air with a distant look on his face. He looks... hurt.

“It's not just _play pretend_!” it's out of Stan 039's mouth before he knows it and while he doesn't feel bad about defending Stanford he regrets speaking up like that. Everyone is staring at him, some of the younger kids look relieved and a little awestruck, the older Stans at the table look plain shocked, some outright alarmed yet the Rick barely looks up, makes it obvious he doesn't even care enough about his opinion to answer. Slowly Stan 039 turns his head to face Stanford. 

There is a fierce disappointment barely held back behind clenched teeth and the glasses don't mitigate the effect of his furrowed brows in the least. Stan 039 was tense before but now his back feels rigid like it was hewn from a block of concrete. Pines men are generally of unimpressive height but the barely contained anger makes Stanford seem taller.

“Sorry.” Stan 039 mumbles, feels shame that he lost control like that despite his rigorous training and wonders how much trouble he's in as Stanford walks back to the Rick, pulls a small tablet out of his coat pocket and starts scrolling through the contract and explains a few basic things that the Rick already seems to know or simply doesn't want to hear.

He knows he should concentrate on his cooking, not on what is going on behind him. He's been given this job because Stanford trusts him with it. He worked hard to earn back that trust. He is thankful for the chance he was given, thankful to be here, he truly is. It was stupid to interrupt them, to get involved in Stanford's business when nobody asks him to. He is acting more like a child than a man who is close to 20. Fucking hell, how often did Stanford tell him to get a hold of his temper and still-

A quick glance over his shoulder reveals the look on Stan 051's terrified face. He turned 14 a few months ago. Stan 039 remembers the kid saying he and his Ford were born at the end of February rather than the middle of June and was surprised that not all alternate Pines twins were born on the same day. Now the kid is clearly trying to hold back tears, bites his lip in an effort to hide his fear even though nobody is looking at him. Nobody but Stan 039. The other Stans around the table ignore him on purpose now. Nobody wants to be involved in the situation, everybody acts like this is normal while knowing precisely that it is pretty fucked up. They are probably relieved that it's not them.

It's not like he spends much time with the individual younger Stans. He feels kind of responsible for the little ones, especially those that come here confused and scared and begging to be brought back home. Every Stan that is picked up before he got thrown out wants to go home. He isn't sure but he thinks Stan 051 here never even left this place since he arrived. A little troublemaker who isn't trusted to make good decisions for himself. Was he rented out before? Has he an idea of what could happen once he leaves or does he have to rely on his wild imagination right now?

Stan 039 remembers the feeling clearly. The first time he was rented out. He thought for sure he'd be fucked. Literally. He remembers that Rick clearly but can't recall his dimension. Hair a little shorter than that of your everyday Rick and despite his clearly inebriated state he looked a little more well-kempt, he had nice fingernails. In the end, he was just looking for some company. They did some stuff the Rick had called 'adventuring' and got really drunk afterward. They laughed a lot. It was... nice. It made him lower his guard.  
He smiled when the next Rick portaled him out of here. Smiled until he was unceremoniously thrown to the ground and punched in the face before the Rick choked him out. His memories of everything after that feel vague. He can't be certain but he thinks the Rick kept strangling him every time he regained any semblance of consciousness.

For a brief moment, he wonders what the Rick present in their kitchen wants with the boy. _He'll have some fun and gain some unique experience... Eleven is old enough for what I got in mind._

Concentrate on your pans. It's none of your business.

Behind him, Stan 051 snivels, rubs his eyes that are no doubt burning with unshed tears in a way that makes him think of some of the Mortys he's met. Not the shy and anxious ones, the ones with the dead eyes that are resigned to their fate, who don't argue and just... let everything happen, innocence lost. 

“Can I go instead?” He says and both Stanford and Rick look up from the tablet. 

“What did you say?” Stanford asks, brows knit and Stan 039 swallows the heavy lump forming in his throat.

“It's been a while since I got out and I kinda did nothing but cook and play with the kids lately. Not very satisfying.”

Stanford opens his mouth but doesn't get to say anything before the Rick cuts in. “You wanna come with me? Why?”

Stan 039 shrugs and lets out a short laugh that he hopes screams cocky teenager. “Anything to get out of here.”

The look Stanford gives him is downright toxic but that seems to strike right into the Rick's zone. By now he knows what draws this type of Rick in.

“Changed my mind. Gimme that one.” he beams at Stanford, pointing at Stan 039 and with a huff Stanford starts to change numbers on the tablet, hand movements slightly exaggerated as he complains quietly, more to himself than anyone around him.

Something in his stomach twists itself into knots when he realizes what he just did but a look at the faces of the little Stans makes him feel like a bloody martyr. He slips his apron off hangs it over the back of the chair of Stan 047 and asks him to take over for him. There isn't much left to do anyway. “Just try not to burn the hashbrowns and make sure the pancakes don't have raw batter in 'em. Better they're a little dry than someone getting salmonella or some shit. The others can help you clean up when you're all done.” he grins and ruffles the kid's hair. Stan 047 nods vigorously, not hiding his obvious admiration for the older one.

10 Minutes later the other Stans yell their goodbyes at him and tell him they hope he has fun and wish him a safe trip as he steps through the shiny green portal. It's almost funny how willing they are to look him in the eye when they say that. If he looked even half as miserable about leaving as Stan 051 did they would have felt bad for him, would have acted like they didn't see him leave. It's all about appearances. If he doesn't act scared the kids won't be worried. It's simple like that.

The Rick comes through the portal behind him and gives him a push, points toward a little space-ship that radiates a trashy suburban garage flair and tells him to start walking. A few moments later Stan sits in a slightly uncomfortable old car seat as they zip through space, very aware that this rickety looking vehicle is all that separates him from the cold endless void outside. 

Sometimes he wonders how nothingness can be cold. He remembers clearly that he once tried to tear his way out of one of these things, determined he'd rather kill both of them than let anything more happen and that Rick had explained to him that he wouldn't just freeze or suffocate. The vacuum would boil him alive in his own skin. In the end, he landed on his hands and knees in the backseat, unable to decide whether or not he wanted to be boiled to death just to protect his pride. But sometimes he still considers it, wants to reach out and

“It's gonna hold,” Rick comments mockingly and Stan can't help but roll his eyes. 

“That wasn't what I was thinking about.”

He sneers patronizingly. “ _Please._ It's written all over you.”

“Whatever.” Stan shrugs and leans back into the seat, draws a leg up against his chest, heel digging into the cushion beneath him.

“I know you think you reeled me in with your little confidence act.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I know your kind. You think you're so manipulative. If you wanna play this game with a Rick you'll have to do better than that.”

“Then why pick me?” Stan grunts out, slightly sore. He knows that Ricks always do that, call you out on everything and make you feel small because it makes them feel like they got big dicks, but that doesn't make it easier for him to listen to it.

“I originally thought of showing up with a kid Stan, old enough to realize what's happening but young enough to display fear honestly.”

Stan clicks his tongue, impatient. “I don't like repeating myself.”

The Rick takes a deep breath and shrugs before reaching into his coat and taking the first swig of his flask since he showed up. “Breaking something that thinks is sooooo though can be fun, too. And so is breaking something that already thinks it's too broken to break any further," he smirks ever so slightly. "There is just something deeply satisfying about proving people wrong, don't you think?.” 

That makes Stan perk up in his seat. How it still surprises him what condescending assholes Ricks generally are is beyond him.

“Also, your savior complex is really annoying. Makes a guy wanna knock you down a peg or two.”

“I don't have any complexes!” he briefly considers landing a right hook right between the old geezer's jaw and cheekbone, or maybe in the ribs.

“Kid, you got enough complexes to choke a rhino but that's not the point. The way you glance around the room, think you're so stealthy with the way you pity those kids. Do you really think you helped anyone by sacrificing yourself? I'm not as bad a guy as you think, but the next guy might be. Who's gonna save the kid when the next pedo portals in and looks for some fresh fuck meat when you're here with me?”

Stan bristles. Before he can think about what he does he swings at the motherfucker. Two seconds later his face and chest are pressed into the headboard, one arm twisted behind his back and a knee digging into his ribs, pushing him down. 

“Brute force, that's all you're capable of, huh? That's not just typical its gettings so old it's _boring_. Listen carefully, one more of these stunts and I won't bring you back.” he hisses and Stan nods, expression gruff and flush with barely contained rage. He wants to punch this guy's lights out so bad. Not all Ricks are bad but this obviously is one part of the vast majority that decidedly is. Nobody would miss this guy if Stan killed him, in fact, the multiverse would be a better place if Stan could get rid of even just one random Rick! But he doesn't struggle. No matter what he does, he is no match for a Rick, not yet. That doesn't change the fact that he wants them all dead.

“Next time you lash out maybe try to consider your surroundings, too." he lifts a hand and knocks at the glass above them, "Not that I think you can break this baby but if you wanna kill yourself do that in your off time, I paid for this little excursion and I intend to get my portal fluids worth. You're not going to go back before - Urph- I'm satisfied.”

Fucking hell, he hates it when they belch in his neck like that. “Okay! Let the fuck go already or we're gonna crash into something!” Stan puffs and Rick laughs, light and easy.

“There is nothing out here to crash into. I could take you to the backseat and teach you some respect and we wouldn't hit anything for years.”

“Then where are we going??”

Rick lets go of him and shoves Stan back into his seat with a little push before putting his hands back on the steering wheel. “I recently became a prem-”

“I don't wanna hear your life's story,” Stan interrupts him and see's the Rick frown out of the corner of his eye. “I just wanna know where we're going. Flying. Whatever.” he throws his hands up for emphasis. He's so fed up with this! That's not what he had planned for today, the last place he wants to be is next to a Rick!

“What's it to you? You have no say in the matter anyway.” he muses over that for a second and takes another gulp from his flask before he sneers. “Or any matter, really. What's it like, living in that freak's little dreamland?”

“Shut up.” It's okay. It could be worse. If he had to choose the worst thing about it it would probably be that there are so many Stans. Not that he dislikes them. Most of them are nice enough. They are Stans. But... Right now he is Stan, the one and only, he is himself. Back in that house on that asteroid, he is just one of many. In that place, he even refers to himself as Stan O 39. One can't help but feel smaller, less significant when he's not just reduced to a number but is basically just a carbon copy of everyone else around. he can't even pretend to be an individual because their differences are minimal, they have more in common than not. Makes you lose yourself... Different stages of life of the same person stuck in one place, sometimes it feels like he's in some fucked up timetravel funhouse. Mirrors everywhere. Other than Ma some of these older guys really _can_ tell him his future. Or what his future would have been if Stanford didn't collect him off the street. The harsh reality is that he would have never made it on his own, never could have won his family's love and respect back. 

All he has is this one exceptional Stanford, grizzled and arrogant and more than just a little rough around the edges but... It's so easy to see the Sixer in him, _his Sixer_ , it's painful. And if he wouldn't have taken Stan with him he'd probably sleep in his car now, hungry and cold and alone and... probably earn his living in a similar way. He wants to say that might be the only thing he's good at but he's not so sure about that. But maybe it's the only thing he is good _for_.

Rick clears his throat as if on cue. “Suit yourself, princess. If you don't wanna talk I guess I gotta rape around a little to pass the time. Do you want it up your ass or down your throat, baby, cause I'm game for both.”

Stan chokes on his own spit, tries not to backpedal too obviously. “It's not what you think.”

“Oh? Enlighten me. What do I think?”

“He's not like that.”

“Like what?”

“... Like Ricks.”

“Are you sayin' he doesn't fuck you?”

Stan tenses. He could say no but that would be a lie and Rick would know it. It's like they can smell fear like some kind of predatorial animal. 

“Thought so.”

“It's not what you think.” Stan says again, quieter but insistent.

“Sure. He's such a good guy. That's why his foreplay consists of telling you what a meanspirited failure you are. What's it again... the thing he loves to use against older Stanley's... _'You ruined my life!'_ right? _'You deserve to be punished like this.'_ Fuck, I bet he tells you he doesn't do it because he likes it or because he hates you, but to teach you a lesson, to make you a better person.” Rick lets out a rather callous laugh." Let me guess, does he say fucked up stuff like _'You made me do this, Stan?'_ Does he-”

“Shut the fuck up!” Stan rasps as a slight dizziness washes over him, a heavy weight pressing against his back, pushing him forward as the phantom of broad bruising hands ghosts over his neck and they fall into silence but Stan can hear someone breathe against his ear.

 _It's for your own good, Stanley. You'll thank me one day. You don't have to like it, just hold still. Yes, like that, relax. This is really easy for you, isn't it? Deep down you seem to know you deserve this. You_ want _to be punished, don't you? I can make you a better person, Stanley if you just let me. You have to let me... oh god, so tight-_

“If you think he doesn't fuck the kids you're dumber than a Morty."

Stan jerks out of his stupor to glare at him, almost personally offended for reasons he doesn't understand.

"Obviously, he doesn't do all of them, where would he find the time? He's got like how many of you by now? 60? 70?” 

62 Stan thinks bleakly and watches the Rick idly suckle on his flask for a moment before he continues to talk over the rim of its mouth, gives Stan a curious side-eye.

“If you pay a little attention you can easily make out that he's playing favorites but I guess you'd rather pretend you don't see that, huh? Why is that? Did you give up on life or do you want to believe you're the only one he wants to fuck like that? Wanna be his special little sex toy? Or do you really think all Stans deserve this? Do you think if you let him rape you often enough he'll eventually forgive you guys?”

Stan wrenches his eyes shut. He doesn't want to hear that. Not again. Why can't Ricks just leave him be? Why? Why, why, why do they always have to poke him like that? You'd think he'd get used to it but the more often he hears it the worse it feels. They have to know he'll jump to the bait and try to punch them out, break their long thin necks in his big hands like twigs. He doesn't want to get slammed against the headboard again, get his arm twisted, get some important lesson about manners rammed up his ass. 

"Wanna know a little secret? Why he does it all? It's not complicated. he-"

"Shut up already! I don't wanna hear it! Just once can you NOT rub it in and just leave me be you dirty old freak?? I know everything I need to know, I don't need you to tell me that it's all about sex! Everything is always about sex! Fuck and be fucked! Asses and tits, and dicks and pussies and that's all there is to it! Because life is meaningless and short and everyone spends it chasing after what feels best, yadda yadda, I don't wanna hear it anymore! I get it already I drew a short straw so I don't get a choice! And spare me the justice talk about how the concept of deserving things and fairness and equality are human constructs and how nothing and nobody truly has any worth in the face of the endless fucking multiverse!" he shouts and he knows he should stop it but he can't help it. He's so angry and frustrated and tired of it all and just wants it to end.

He wants to wake up, wants to go home. See his brother and apologize until he loses his voice, hug Ma and tell her how much he loves her, hell he'd even settle for reuniting with dad at this point. If he got the chance he'd try. He'd work so hard but he has long stopped being naive enough to try and trick Ricks into portaling him home and no amount of begging will convince a Rick who actively rents a Stan. God, he needs to stop thinking so he can stop yelling.

"Or did you want to tell me about how useless it is to fight my situation?! Tell me to lean back and enjoy the ride for as long as it lasts because nothing matters and life is what you make of it and by resisting the shit I can't change I am only making myself miserable because guess what that's not the first time I've heard that either! I get it already, you're an all-powerful god in this bitch and I'm stupid and weak and irrelevant and should come to terms with that! Now stop trying to teach me something and let's get this over with!"

There is a long moment of silence where all Stan can do is try to catch his breath and stare into the darkness above him, count stars as he blinks tears back before they can fall and embarrass him further. He doesn't dare look at the Rick, he can't imagine what the old fuck must think right now and he doesn't want to know it. But he can hear some rustling of the white lab coat, can hear his throat work as he swallows his booze down.

"It's not your fault, you know? You were just unlucky to catch this specific Stanford's attention and just as unlucky to catch mine. The universe is cruel like that, but none of it is your fault, kid, don't let anyone tell you that. Just..." he burps again and drinks some more. Stan wishes he'd offer him some because he could really use a good buzz and a feeling of numbness right now. "Don't act like you don't care because you obviously do. It's pathetic to watch.”

“Where are we going?” Stan asks again, sick and tired of talking about Stanford and himself and everything that' has remotely to do with it and lucky for him Rick complies and accepts the change of subject. 

“A while ago I became a premium member of a nice little fetish club. Pretty exclusive but I can't get in alone, gotta show up with an offering and like hell am I gonna drag my Morty there.” He snorts before he takes a few more gulps from his flask and lets out a deeply dissatisfied grunt when he shakes it and hears no more sloshing sounds. “The little shit doesn't need to know what a sicko his grandpa really is.”

A fetish club. "What kind of fetish?"

"You're better off not knowing yet. I want everyone to see the expression on your face when you realize what is going to happen to you."

Yeah. Okay. He really should numb himself. Stan sits up and turns around in his seat, tries to spy an unopened bottle in the backseat but is promptly pushed back into his seat by his meaty shoulder.

"You can drink as much as you like after it's all over, but I need you to be sober and aware of what is happening when it happens. That's the whole appeal in it."

“Ah,” he says, monotone and a little defeated, resigned to his situation for now. He knows that the moment someone puts a hand on him his fight will return. It's always like that but right now he can't help but feel a little bit of life drain out of him and into the void outside, imagines what it would look like drifting off into space. It's funny but when he allows himself to relax space has something weirdly serene about it, makes him realize that being boiled alive still sounds worse than being a living breathing sex toy. 

He doesn't want his life to end on such a bad note, doesn't want to die without making up with his Ford, without making his mistake up to his twin, without ever seeing his other half again, without telling him how much he loves and treasures and needs him. He can't see it right now but there has to be a way to meet again. If he can just hold out long enough... if he just keeps himself alive long enough sooner or later there might be an opportunity. As long as he can believe that...

"We're here." Rick sets the junk-ship down without any grace, there are few other ships here but not far from them a Rick and his Morty portal in. The Morty looks scared and his Rick has to drag him which isn't hard because like most other Mortys he's met so far this one is small and skinny and probably a little timid, too. "Get out, don't wanna be late on event night."

Stan nods, tries not to tense back up again when the Rick gives his knee a little squeeze and something lecherous grows in his face that makes Stan glad he didn't eat before he left. He braces himself for a long and probably rough day and jumps out onto the parking lot. Despite everything, despite knowing he didn't truly help and that nothing he does or doesn't do matters, in the end, he's still glad he spared little Stan 051 this bullshit.


	2. Ghost in the Bum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea and the conversation between Fiddleford and Stanford come from GnaCat. I told you if you don't want to write it I will, lol. That's what you get for teasing me.

"A possessed prostate?" Ford questions and gives his assistant an incredulous look. This has to be a joke. He knows Stan has been acting strange lately but... This has to be some sort of ridiculous prank. "Coffee?"

"If you'd listen to him every once in a while you'd think it's obvious, too. And yes, that'd be mighty nice." Fiddleford rolls his eyes and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

"Now would I?" Ford chuckles and turns to pour himself and Fiddleford some of the hot beverage.

He can hear his assistant sigh with exasperation behind his back. "No, YOU probably wouldn't, but take my word for it. It's obvious." Ford looks over his shoulder to see Fiddleford frown and pinch the bridge his nose.

"Oh? How come you're more capable of recognizing-"

"We don't all spend our college years holed up in the library, studyin' until our eyesight fails us."

"I... I don't think I follow?" His confusion must have been evident because not even 2 seconds later Fiddleford relents, some of his annoyance evaporating.

"I'm sorry, Stanford, that was pretty ill-mannered. My point remains, though. I am convinced he suffers from some form of possession and he knows exactly how it is affectin' him and from the looks of it I'd reckon he's right about the location of the problem." 

"... I consider you a friend so I will give you my honest opinion." He turns around with two cups and hands one to Fiddleford. "There is a high possibility that he is simply messing with you. Did you consider that?"

"Why, Dr. Pines, I would have never thought of that. Thank you for your insight." Fiddleford reply's flatly and puts the cup he receives immediately down, giving Stanford a feeling of rejection and consequently making him a little more compliant, ready to remedy whatever he did to cause that.

"Okay, fine. Let's suppose he isn't making things up for attention or simply because he enjoys making an ass of himself. Why would any ghost in its right mind-"

"Ah." Fiddleford interrupts with a finger lifted in the space between them. "You're the one with an interest in the supernatural. If y' need someone to help you build some sort of vacuum ghost cleaner I'm your man, but figurin' out what motivates a ghost to make a home in your brother's bum is somethin' I already spend far more time contemplatin' on than I want to admit. So, knowin' that you two have some form of twisted history that prohibits you from gettin' along and bein' rational with each other I'm playin' the real unthankful part of the middleman. And I'm tellin' you there is somethin' unnatural about his behavior and if you hear him out his conclusion makes sense. Now, I understand why he wouldn't come to you with this and why you wouldn't want anythin' to do with it but boy howdy I'm not jokin' I have no business involvin' myself any further in this diddly gosh darn mess of a situation and delegate it down to you." Fiddleford takes a long deep breath before laying a hand on Stanford's shoulder and shooting him a slightly sympathetic look. "Good luck."

"You're being serious." It's not a question.

"I'm afraid so, Stanford."

* * *

"That fucking snitch!!" Stanley bristles slams a fist on the table and Ford jumps, only now beginning to realize that maybe Fiddleford gave him information that was supposed to be confidential and it doesn't really make him want to engage any further in this charade. 

"Calm down, Stanley." 

"I am calm!"

"Then stop yelling at me." This is starting out great. He just breached the topic and he's already irritated beyond measure. Slow breaths. He's doing this for Fiddleford, for his friend, not for Stanley. He took Stanley in out of pity, (also because he still feels bad for accidentally firing an arrow into his shoulder.) and not because he is inclined to forgive him or because he still feels a special sort of connection to him. He doesn't. That's in the past

He watches Stanley sink back into the armchair and bury his face in his hands, rubbing violently at it. "How much did he tell you?"

"Enough to know that the prank you are playing on him is incredibly inappropriate." he sighs and combs his hair back with one hand, reminds himself that he should make sure to shower tonight. "Do you think this is funny? Fiddleford is a good guy and you have him genuinely worried. I hope you're proud of yourself."

Stanley lifts his head to glare at Ford and a muscle in his cheek starts to twitch, jaw setting.

“Do you have anything to say to your defense?”

Stubbornly holding eye contact Stanley sits in silence, grinds his teeth rather than open his mouth. It's pretty much confirming what Ford knew to be true from the start. Just looking at him working his jaw like that makes Ford- 

“... You are the _last_ person I would want to tell about anything going on in my ass.” Stan grunts under his breath and Ford rolls his eyes.

“Likewise. But we are talking about Fiddle-”

“ _You_ are talking about Fiddleford! I'm the one with the problems! You should be talking about _me!_ ” Stan barks and points a thumb at himself for emphasis.

“Stanley, this is not about you. And don't interrupt me again.”

“Would it kill you to not assume the worst of me for once?!” Stanley fumes and Ford can't help but sneer at him.

“Fine. Give me a reason other than that you are my brother to believe a word you utter and I'll consider it. Tell me just one thing you did in the last 48 hours that wasn't entirely self-serving.”

He stares his brother down, eyes narrowed and foot tapping as he waits for a reply. 

“I fed a stray, and...” 

“When?”

“Uhh, this mornnn-yesterday?”

Ford lifts a suspicious brow. “Go on.”

“I... I did the dishes. Like, I think I do them every day.”

“And how many times did I have to ask you to help out with some chores before you begrudgingly did it?”

Stanley lowers his head, eyes darting through the room, avoiding Ford as he starts to chew on his lip nervously, mind probably scrambling for another believable falsehood. He can't help it. In that regard, Stanley is 100% their mother's son, a notorious liar through and through. It comes more natural to him than breathing and they both know it. Ford shakes his head and sighs. Again, the silence is answer enough for him.

“I told you there are conditions if you want to stay. If you give me trouble I won't hesitate to kick you out. I don't mind minor misbehaviors, and I don't expect you to pay rent, you can do what you want with what little money you make in town. Drown yourself in liquor for all I care but when you do don't you dare show up here before you sober up. If you are looking for a high do that elsewhere.” Ford watches Stanley slowly nod, whatever few gears are still turning up there must be hard at work, elbows on his knees and hands folded tightly. Maybe to not ball them into fists? Stanley always had a problem with authority figures.

“I am giving you a roof over your head, I am feeding you, I will even provide basic medical care if you can't afford it yourself. I don't have to help you but I do because despite everything you've done I have enough basic human decency to give you a chance to-” Ford shakes his head as he takes a deep breath, looks for the right words. He doesn't believe Stanley can ever redeem himself, or even truly change himself for the better. There is just a problem with his character, nobody can fix the flaws that are at his core and in their time apart they seem to have gotten worse.

“I have enough decency to give you a chance to live with a semblance of human dignity." Ma would be proud if she knew Stanley was here, knew he had taken his brother in. He will tell her about it should Stanley get a job and move out. The way his twin is right now she is better of thinking he's still missing. "I think it's more than fair of me to expect some respect in return. You have only yourself to blame if you find yourself on the street again.” he finishes and isn't quite satisfied with how that came out. It's different from the harangue he had in mind before the conversation started but it will do.

Yet Stan just sits there, brows furred, trying to process what he just heard. His mouth stands far enough open for Ford to see some of the caries. It reminds him of the chipped cuspid and lateral incisor in the upper left jaw that he can't see from where he stands but that bother him whenever he lays eyes on them as well as the horrible dental bridge that doesn't match the color of Stanley's actual teeth. Is it worth getting that fixed for his brother just so he himself won't have to see it anymore? Just thinking about the horrible quality of that bridge irritates him.

“And while I am already at, I know I must've said it at least 50 times by now but let me say it one more time, because apparently you are constantly sitting on your ears. If you ever come near any of my work, if I so much as catch you in the same room I will kick you to the curb immediately. Consider this your last warning.”

That finally catches Stanley's attention, makes him drop his jaw completely. He inhales sharply and adopts an expression of furious disbelieve.

“Whatever it is I didn't do anything! I'm an idiot but I'm not _that much_ of an idiot! I didn't touch a thing I swear! I didn't even look at anything!”

And here comes the crux of the whole interlocution. “Fiddleford is my assistant. He is an important asset and you are distracting him with tasteless pranks. You might think it's funny to make him worry like that-”

“He approached _me_ , not the other way around! You can't blame that one on me. It's not my fault that he's such a mother hen.” Stan interrupts him again, probably just to spite him but Ford doesn't rise to the bait. He just wants to resolve the issue and get a promise out of his brother that he will leave Fiddleford alone. Stanley is right about one thing, Fiddleford is just too caring for his own good.

“And because that bothers you, you tried to discourage him with this unconscionable homosexual humor?” Ford inquires with the practiced adamancy of someone who is used to being right and finally, Stanley snaps.

“Figures! Figures that's the conclusion you'd come to!” he spits and throws his hands in the air before he jumps up and quickly turns on his heel to leave in the opposite direction.

“Where do you think you're going we're are not done here!” Ford calls after him and tries to catch up because that has become a thing. Years of researching and cataloging Gravity Falls fascinating flora and fauna conditioned him to chase things that run, which should come in handy when he attempts to grab Stanley by his shoulder to make him look at him but his brother ducks away and makes a dash for- For the stairs? Ford would have thought Stan would leave the house when he's pissed like that, go drink, get into fights, whore around or do whatever else he does when he is out of his sight and mind.

He tries to get a hold of him again but Stanley is surprisingly slippery, bangs into a wall and throws the coat stand over while he's at it, avoiding Ford's hands as if his life depended on it. The same hands that he couldn't get enough of when they were little. He wouldn't stop insisting on holding hands whenever possible, long past the age where their mother considered them to be too old for it. Another thing of the past that lost its value over time.

“Stanley! Stanley, I am paying the bills here!” he barks “You owe me to-”

“I'm owing you jack shit! I agreed to nothing and never asked for anything! You decided everything on your own, Poindexter! If you gotta do the math do it right!” he shouts at Ford over his shoulder and takes the first few stairs in one big step. 

“My math is fine!” Ford just knows Stanley is gonna lock himself in that little room he cleared out for him after he accidentally shot him with the crossbow and do Cipher knows what. But he's not going to let himself be treated like that in his own house. Stan can't just treat him like that! They aren't teenagers anymore, Ford is holding all the cards here.  
He tries to get a hold of Stanley's shirt once more to pull him back down and thanks to the narrowness of the staircase his twin has no space to evade the hand grabbing him, two fingers scratching over his neck before they hook into the collar of Stanley's shirt and something jumps victoriously in Ford's gut.

“Stanford, no! Let g- HG!” Stanley goes ramrod stiff for a second. Back straight as one of his crossbows bolts he falls into Ford, nearly throwing them both down the stairs and giving Ford a shock he won't forget anytime soon. He is getting so close to finishing the portal, maybe they can have a test run next month and Stanley almost ruined it, almost made him die as a nobody! After all, what good has building an interdimensional portal if you don't live to get any credit for it?

“What the hell is wrong with you! You could have gotten... us...” Stanley's back shudders against Ford's chest. He is shaking and suspiciously quiet, his breathing slightly erratic.

“Stanley?” Ford tries but Stan doesn't answer, squirms instead and the way Ford is holding his brother up he can't see his face but with the shaking his first thought is _'seizure'_. Stan has his fair share of ailments that he tries to hide and Ford admittedly might not have been as attentive as he should have been but he didn't think he was hiding anything that bad!

“Stanley??” Ford looks around, frantic. First things first he needs to get Stanley off the stairs. For a moment he feels agitated enough to sling both arms around Stanley's middle and turn them around to pull him up the last few steps to the landing. 

“Ffff-ford you- You gotta stop- t-touching me- meee ah oh! Shit!” he gasps. Good! He's speaking so it's probably not a seizure!

“You've got to help me out here or we'll both fall!” Ford growls, now that he knows Stan is perfectly conscious anger overrides fear. Roughly he pulls at him and with a little help from a very heavy, wobbly Stanley they step on the landing only for his brother to stumble further backward and smash Ford back first into the wall, squishing the air out of him with an undignified “Urghf!” that makes him cough. 

He's about to give Stanley a piece of his mind when the knucklehead suddenly whines high in his throat and unsteady hands claw has Ford's wrists, pull them off Stanley's soft middle and away from him but Stanley doesn't let go of him. His fingers dig painfully in the skin through Ford's clean white shirt, make him hiss as tremors run through his twin's body and Stanley lets out a series of choked noises, legs almost giving underneath him when his body jerks up and back against Ford. The sound coming from his brother when this particularly strong tremor ends and ebbs into smaller shudders is one of pure relief, followed by loud panting and some low whimpers, making Ford quickly realize that he must have attempted to suppress all noise at first.

"Stanley?" he tries, suddenly a little uncertain. 

"Oh- oh! Dear god, d-don't talk." Stanley hisses and Ford isn't sure but he might be in pain.

What... what now? Stanley lets out a low moan followed by a gasp and a shudder and just... just continues to press his back into Ford's chest as if trying to ground himself and Ford is so horribly underprepared for this kind of scenario, shocked into inactivity, into the more passive role of an observer. That's how he'll excuse this weird lapse in his mind later. He is observing.

Stanley gulps, tries to push himself up again, to stand up a little straighter but then immediately rocks back against him, throws his head back almost hitting Ford in the nose and lets out another moan, long and drawn out as he _quakes_ and gasps and whines, curses under his breath and grinds his hips back while Ford is busy with all the hair in his face. It tickles where they catch in his stubble and he tries to spit them out where they get into his mouth and not get them under his glasses or into his eyes. He can't help but think that it doesn't smell like his lemongrass shampoo.

Stanley must have gotten his own shampoo but he can't remember seeing any strange bottles in the bathroom, so he probably keeps it in his room. Smells minty, a little like eucalyptus and musk and it doesn't really suit his brother. Stanley, jerks back against him with force, once, twice- The idiot was never really good at picking things that suit him so Ma did it for him. For a moment Stanley holds his breath, flinches and lets the breath out, resting his head against Ford's shoulder behind him, tries to catch his breath and wriggles his hips, providing some not unwelcome pressure. The iron grip on Ford's forearms loosens. 

Ford subconsciously buries his nose in Stanley's hair. Stanley should smell fruity, something like... like maybe- He takes a deep breath, hands uselessly opening and closing in the air as he thinks about grabbing one of Stan's now free ones, discover whether or not their fingers still slot together effortlessly. Maybe he should smell like peaches? Yeah... Peaches suit him. Sweet and soft and pink and fuzzy and round and... He feels himself salivating, nuzzles against Stanley's ear, lips brushing against the back of it and Stanley gasps, shivers and- “Juicy...” Ford mumbles, warm breath against Stanley's ear and his brother sobs.

The noise freezes Ford right up, suddenly very aware of the ass rubbing against his half chubb and the hands he almost held.

He grabs Stanley's shoulders and pushes him forward, hastily slipping out from behind him to slam him right back against the wood so he would still have something to hold him up, to lean against. The sight in front of him makes him want to bolt while a quiet voice in the back of his head that sounds suspiciously like Bill asks him if he really doesn't want to taste this peach.

Stanley looks... debauched. Face flushed a deep red, eyes teary and glazed over, unfocused pupils blown so wide it is hard to make out the blue of his irises, mouth wet and inviting and drooling slightly as it mewls and moans quietly, expression caught somewhere between pleasure and pain as he rocks his hips against nothing in particular and his hands look for purchase on the wall behind him. 

Ford never thought of a man as sexually attractive but this? The sight in front of him sends confusing signals to his brain, pools them hot in his abdomen. C-could -he gulps- Could just be the long hair.

Stan squeezes his eyes shut and slowly starts shaking, holds his breath again, teeth clenched as he presses himself back against the wall.

"Stanley?" Ford asks carefully but doesn't receive a reply.

His twin shakes his head, slowly at first, then faster until his breath bursts out of him in a loud groan that tapers off into a series of distressed little "Ah! Ah! Ah!"s as he starts squirming again and he throws his head back, knocks it against the wall with an audible thunk against the wood. And only then does Ford finally snap out of it. He's seen enough porn to know what it sounds like when someone is getting... fucked.

"Hey! Stanley, you have to keep it together! Look at me!" he gently shakes Stan by his shoulders. For a moment he was so shocked and angry at Stan he completely forgot what started this whole situation. Suddenly a possessed prostate doesn't sound all that ridiculous anymore. 

Stanley shakes his head again, harder before he presses the side of his face against the wood, avoiding Ford and why does he have to do that? What's up with this back and forth between begging for attention and running away once Ford readily gives it? He lifts a hand from Stanley's shoulder and crudely grasps Stanley's jaw, pulls with quite some effort to make Stan look at him, make him think about Ford rather than whatever is doing this to him.

"Look at me." Ford hisses breathlessly and Stanley's whole body stiffens, jerks several times as he produces a few deep, guttural moans that sound like they are getting punched out of him and Ford quickly realizes his brother is experiencing an orgasm. Ford's eyes are immediately drawn down, the desperately bucking hips, the wet spot growing at the front of his jeans... It's not that he wants to see it, it's just- a reflex! Maybe this is important information! He's confirming his suspicion! Confirms that this is about to be over!

But it doesn't stop there. The climax doesn't transition into an afterglow but rather into- he's not sure because Stanley's face starts to pinch up and he attempts to squirm out of Ford's grasp before he bats his hands away and quickly reaches behind himself tries to push something away from himself only to find the wall. His eyes snap open and he pants, gasps, mouth wide open and drooling on the floor and brokenly cursing as his body locks up, visually crossing the line into painful.

"Shit! ShhhhFFUCK! Ah! Ah! Ah- hhhnnngH! UNGH! Sto- stop, I- I- Oooh, OW Ah! Shit! I can't-" he sobs, snivels, "I can't!" and suddenly there are tears. Faster than anyone could have anticipated he goes from good enough to make him come to full-on crying in pain. He still seems to receive stimulation to his prostate and it's apparently no longer pleasurable, it's too much or maybe just too intense Ford isn't an expert on the topic but he knows Stanley can't escape it.

It's terrible and Ford has no idea what to do, just stands there, awkward and helpless. He feels like jittery furniture. There is nothing erotic about it anymore. Soon Stanley's knees buckle and he starts to slip down the wall, Ford tries to steady him but Stan starts wailing as soon as Ford touches him, slams his head back against the wood several times, "Don't! Don't- HNG! Touch!" and Ford steps back, hands hanging awkwardly in the air because he _wants_ to help, he honestly does but what can he do? At this point he is reduced to the role of a spectator and not by choice but by default, mind racing as he tries to come up with resolutions to Stanley's problem.

It's only a matter of minutes before Stanley finally shudders with a sensation Ford couldn't guess if he tried. Sobbing noises transition back into wet gasping sounds and he finally recovers some control over his trembling limbs. The poor guy looks mortified but is quick to use his sleeves to rub at his eyes, more conscious of his tears than the saliva, the sweat or the mucus running from his nose. A small puddle is building beneath him where he sits on the floor. Stanley's shoulders are shaking, he notes and tries to calm down enough to work through the information he just gathered. 

When Stan starts to take long, deep breaths Ford takes that as a signal that he's pulling himself together, he can't help but offer Stan a hand when he tries and fails to push himself back up the wall but Stan pointedly ignores him. After the fourth failed attempt he groans in exhausted frustration and finally looks up at Ford who finds it's not so easy to keep eye contact himself.

"I could really use a cigarette now." he smirks, voice rougher than usual and somewhat hoarse.

"Not in the house." Ford hears himself say and his voice breaks over the last word, he has to swallow a lump forming in his throat. "Maybe you should take a shower first." He kneels down in front of his brother and extends a hand but Stan flinches away. "Let me help you, just to the bathroom, Stanley."

"No."

"Stanl-"

"When a guy touches me..." he starts and stops to lick his lips. With how much he drooled his mouth might be dry now. "If you touch me it might just happen again." he finishes causing Ford to quickly scoot back a bit, yet he remains on his knees, more on Stan's eye level. That is interesting information. So only when men touch him? Every time a man touches him or just sometimes? How high is the percentage? Does it only happen when there is skin to skin contact? Does a layer of fabric make any difference? He could wrap Stan in a blanket and-... And what? Stan is as short as him but definitely heavier. There is no way he can carry him even if he wants to. Ford shakes his head, frowns, annoyed with his own faulty and still kind of panicky logic. His pulse still hasn't calmed down completely. He shifts his focus back to Stanley. Poor, wet, panting Stanley. Sticky with all kinds of bodily fluids. He gradually seems to try and wipe himself off with his sleeves. It's a pathetic sight that makes something in Ford's chest tighten uncomfortably.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" he finally asks and the feeling in his chest grows tighter when Stan looks up from his soiled jeans and his tired, disgusted expression morphs into an embarrassed smile.

"Yeah. Maybe get rid of this bullshit ghost in my butt?" he chuckles and snuffles. Ford tries not to make a face at the sound of snot being sucked back up his nose but nods.

"I can try."

"Just try?"

"I'm neither an expert in exorcism nor in anything anal."

That finally does the trick and Stan cracks up a little. "How the hell can you say that with a straight face!"

How indeed. But this is a good sign, really. If Stanley can laugh like that Ford can start questioning him. He'll need a lot more information if he wants to fix this problem. And maybe make a new entry in the journal. This is definitely worth an entry. It's strange and from what he's seen it is potentially dangerous. Stan should have told him about it sooner and now that he's finally calming down it actually bothers him that he heard about this from Fiddleford, that Stan just kept this to himself.

"If it's this painful you should have come to me sooner." Ford scolds and Stan rolls his eyes at that.

"It's not usually like that. I... That actually took me kind of by surprise. It's the first time it did _that_."

"Did what?"

Stan snorts. "Uh, Me? After I -ah- finished?" he looks away. "Well, okay, sometimes it does but never this long and never this... ah- intense."

 _Painful_ , Ford wants to correct him but his inner researcher overpowers his inner annoyed brother.

"Describe a normal instance." he rights his glasses and pulls a small notepad and a pen from his pocket.

Stan's eyes widen slightly when he see the utensils and clears his throat awkwardly, shrugs. When Ford realizes that was supposed to be his answer he clicks his tongue.

"If you want my help you have to tell me-"

"I know! Yeesh! Give me a minute I-" He looks up, grinds his teeth in frustration as he drags his own nails over his face. "This is hard to talk about. Especially with you!"

"Stanley, I just watched you go through this- this horrid experience, I really don't have the patience-"

"Yeah?? Well, it just _happened to me_ how do you think do _I_ feel?! God! Can you not make this about you? Just once?" he yells and Ford blinks at him, taken aback by the outburst.

"I'm trying to help, you knucklehead, you have no reason to yell at me." Ford bites out and gets back on his feet. "If you need me I'm in the basement, you know how to use the phone in the elevator room. Do not, I repeat _do not_ come down there." He turns on his heel and descends the stairs.

"Stanford."

He stops on the second to last step but doesn't turn around.

"It's never the same but I think it kind of depends on who is touching me."

He still doesn't turn to look at his brother. Not because he's sulking but because he has enough. He is definitely not sulking. Stanley sighs up there on the landing, and he hears him move behind him.

“The times when Fiddleford touched me it... it wasn't this... not as extreme, not as... not so fast.” he lets out an unhappy little groan. "It builds up slowly over 10 minutes or something and it stops either the moment I jizz or shortly after it. It gives me plenty of time to get to my room before Fiddleford sees much of anything happening. Can't touch myself, though. It's like my dick magnetically repells my hands once it starts."

"Ah." he tries to keep the frown out of his voice, works the new information through his mind and finds it's hard to stay objective. "So you would rather be touched by Fiddleford than by me."

He snorts, represses a laugh. "Don't make it weird. But yeah. You're the worst."

"Thank you." he says sarcastically and receives an equally sarcastic "Yer welcome" in return. It shouldn't bother him that Stanley's reaction to his touch is worse than any other, that apparently his brother's experiences while inconvenient appear to be satisfying on his part with anyone but him.

"You're not taking this personally, are you? It's not like I can pick an chose with this stuff. You wanna complain to someone complain to whatever made it's home up my butt. But _duke it out_ after you _get it out_."

Ford can feel his jaw tick, wonders how he cannot take this personally yet simultaneously agreeing that it doesn't matter.

"I will think of something." he assures Stanley and leaves. The best he can do right now is go somewhere quiet and mull over it, read through his more extensive research on the subject of ghosts, demons, and possession. When he falls asleep tonight and he meets his muse he might even ask Bill for advice. 

Tomorrow when everyone has calmed down he will question Stanley again, more thoroughly and objectively than just now. Honestly, how could anyone expect him to interrogate his brother properly when he just had to watch him get- well- essentially raped! He huffs a breath, annoyed just by thinking about it, and starts to massage his temples as he waits for the elevator. 

As long as nobody touches Stanley he should be able to take his time with finding a solution.

For a moment he allows himself to let his mind wander, be a little subjective and then gets on the elevator. Before he reaches the bottom floor he suddenly feels a weird craving and can't tell where it came from. It's harmless enough so Ford pulls out his notepad again and starts to write.

_buy peaches_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love how this Ford doesn't even _try_ to understand his Stan. He is stuck in his own point of view which makes him act like a massive jackass and I love it. Thanks again to Gna for giving me permission to fuck around with their prompt or whatever, insert finger pistols, pchoo pchoo. You better leave me a comment on this bitch, Gna.


	3. Teacher's Pet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Run of the mill 2 Fords fic. Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah yeah, I know the typical old teacher Ford calls himself Forrester but I think Evergreen fits this one. I only proofread the first half so the second half is, like, a total mess but I'll probably fix that later I guess, haha.

White chalk scratches rhythmically over the blackboard. It reads “Dr. Stanford P. Evergreen” in elegant cursive.

Stan sees the sixth finger before Ford does, the nerd isn't paying attention to what's happening up front, nose deep in the fantasy novel he is reading under the table. His interest in people, new or otherwise, is low to begin with but this book has him enraptured. It's gotta be something with monsters because he can't seem put it down since he got it from the library.

Stan feels something slowly, gently tingle up his spine when he imagines Ford's face once he looks up. The man standing at the blackboard may be in his late 50s or 60s, has good posture and a stern face but other than most teachers he appears to be in pretty good shape. And the resemblance to them (the young man next to Stan especially) is uncanny. 

Before Stan can say anything to his brother Dr. Evergreen smiles in their direction, muses “Looks like I have a little clone.” and the students around them start to laugh, and whisper. Someone throws some wadded up paper against Ford's head, finally causing him to look up.

After class Ford is faster at Dr. Evergreen's desk than Stan can get his feet off the table.

* * *

“Type III central polydactyly, Stanley! I mean what are the odds?”

“I heard you the first ten times, Sixer.” Stan rolls his eyes at him but doesn't say anything to truly discourage him either. It's always nice to see him excited, no matter the reason. 

“The exact same form of polydactyly! Same birth defect, same first name, same abnormally high IQ and he is even born on a June 15th! What are the odds, Stanley! It's- It's kind of hard to process actually!” Ford throws his hands in the air, almost hysterical at this point. Meanwhile, Stan makes a point of rolling his eyes a little harder and sighing as audible as possible.

“Next thing you're gonna tell me you've got the same shoe size.”

Ford throws him an earnestly befuddled look. “Do you think I should have asked him about that?”

“Wouldn't surprise me if you did. You're obsessed with the guy and you only just met him, Ford. You probably didn't notice it but he looked really bothered when you followed him to the faculty room. His face said it all.” The six fingers surely won't faze the old man but Ford's freaky behavior might.

“Don't you think he looks kind of like me? Or well, he existed before me, so I should say I look kind of like him.”

Stan let's out a small chortle, “He looks like dad, but nerdier.”

“Don't say that!” Ford looks somewhat horrified but Stan can see that the image is already taking hold inside of his head. The dread in his eyes is as sad as it is amusing. “Do you think he could be related to us? If nothing else you must admit he's got a Pines' nose.”

Stan shrugs, he's not sure how to tell Ford that the guy could have 3 heads, dragonfly wings, and shit toffee peanuts and it wouldn't make Dr. Evergreen any more interesting to him. The man is a teacher. And old. He's gonna stand in front of their class every now and then and drone on and on about things Stan will never truly be able to wrap his head around and soon enough the guy will look at Stan with an exasperation that makes something rise hot and itchy in his throat while simultaneously tying his guts into cold knots.

“I think I'll try to wring some information about our more distant relatives out of Ma. If dad isn't too busy I might even try my luck with him.” Ford beams and he looks somewhat dreamy. His smile is broad and warms Stan down to his core, like his own personal sunrise right next to him. It feels like it's been forever since his twin was this enthusiastic over anything and Stan wants to protect that expression but at the same time it bothers him that he has nothing to do with Ford's great mood.

“I have a good feeling about this, Stanley, this can't be a coincidence. I know it.”

Stan nods. He _really_ doesn't care but Ford cares and that's enough so he claps a hand over his brother's shoulder with a grin. “Good luck.”

* * *

They don't have any distant relatives. They don't have any close relatives either. And no amount of prodding and speculative 'what ifs' on Ford's part is going to change that. Ford's miserable silhouette as he crowds over the book that consumed him this morning makes Stan want to punch something. 

Stan leaves him to it, spends the evening watching Tv only to find him at their desk when he returns hours later, drowning his disappointment in work as he usually does. Stan knows the best he can do in moments like this is leave him alone, Ford isn't a kid anymore. He seems to find comforting gestures more insulting than encouraging now.

* * *

He watches from a safe distance as Ford all but tries to court their new teacher and if he didn't feel so sorry for Ford it would be funny just how uncomfortable Evergreen is with Ford's persistent attention. The impression Stan gets is that the old fart is flattered and feels some sense of obligation for their schools one and only genius but whenever Ford spots Evergreen he seems to interrupt him. The guy is quite busy for a teacher. Always either in the middle of something or in a rush to get somewhere, seemingly never relaxed. But as so often Ford is oblivious to the people around him. It doesn't occur to him that people other than him might have anything important to do.

* * *

“Stan o' War, you say?” he hums and he almost sounds like he doesn't pay attention, continues to write something down in his notebook. Stan picks up his bag and considers leaving before Ford. It kind of pisses him off that Ford told the old Fuck about that. The boat is their baby, their way out. It's noticeable that after two months of constant onesided conversation Ford is running out of things to say and he seems somewhat desperate. It's pathetic. Stan never thought he'd see the day he'd think his twin was pathetic yet here he is, watching Ford awkwardly fiddle with the collar of his checkered blue shirt.

“We have almost finished her restoration. I would say she is about 83 percent finished. If... If you are interested, we could show her to you. Right, Stanley?” Ford turns around to shoot Stan a pleading look and Stan tries not to bristle too obviously.

“I'd love to but I don't think your brother would be too thrilled with that,” Evergreen says as he adjusts his glasses in a way that makes the light catch on them just so, makes it hard for Stan to see his eyes, read his expression. Evergreen has an annoying knack for that. His pen doesn't stop moving, though, which gives off the impression that he couldn't care less about the boat. He probably has better things to do and is looking for an excuse.

“I'm positive that Stanley wouldn't mind.” Ford continues to stare Stan down with those bright eyes that deliver a message of their own. “He's so proud of her, Sir, he would take any chance to show our work off.”

Stan glowers back at him, subtly jerks his head in Evergreen's direction and gives half an eye-roll. Ford tenses his jaw in turn, he looks back and forth between Stan and Evergreen twice before flaring his nostrils with a shaky breath that makes Stan loathe him because he feels himself caving.

“Sure. Whatever he says.” Stan shrugs, turns on his heel and leaves the room. He goes home without Ford that day. It's not that he is doing this so Ford can spend time with their teacher, he does it because he's sure Evergreen didn't want to go in the first place. Something about the guy just ticks Stan off.

* * *

There is something about the way the old man looks at her, touches her, wistful in a way that makes Stan ache and he doesn't know why. 

“She is... marvelous,” he mumbles as six strong fingers gently graze her side, almost as if she were made of glass or something similarly fragile. As if touching her could hurt her. Evergreen isn't very tall, he has maybe 3 inches on the two young men standing to his side but he seems to shrink and age considerably as he comes in contact with the boat. There is suddenly something uncharacteristically vulnerable about their imperious teacher that makes Stan look away. It feels like he is intruding on something private, which is ridiculous considering that the Stan o' War is his and Ford's girl and this guy is a stranger to her. Kind of pisses him off that he touches her with such familiarity now that the surprise is wearing off.

Ford, on the other hand, glows with pride. Starts to talk about how they went about restoring her, the time and effort it took, the materials they chose, and what they still have to do, what they have planned. He speaks with spirit and fire and Stan realizes that he can't remember the last time they worked on the boat together and Ford looked like he had fun.

And Evergreen smiles back, patient and indulging in a way that he wasn't with Ford before. Almost gentle. He gives Ford some ideas for the Stan o' War of his own, encourages him to keep building the boat and expresses an interest in sailing. Says that a long time ago it was his dream to sail the world looking for adventure.

“Like a hundred years ago.” Stan mumbles and Ford punches him in the side but Stan only smirks impishly. He knows from Evergreen's deadpan expression that he heard him. Simple pleasures.

* * *

He laughs. Stan can't hear what they are talking about from where he is standing but he can see Evergreen laugh about something Ford said. Ever since they showed him the Stan o' War Evergreen seems to have taken more of a liking to them. Both of them. And Stan doesn't know what he did to be included like this but he doesn't like it. It's weird and he tries to avoid the annoying geezer out of impulse.

Their eyes meet.

Evergreen lifts a hand to wave Stan over, not even a little conscious about his freaky fingers. Yeah, surprisingly on someone other than Ford these fingers are off and weird and wrong.

“What are you doing over there on your own?” Stan jumps when he is addressed and Evergreen graces him with a rare amused smile. “Were you spying on us?”

Stan couldn't be more pissed if Evergreen would have outright called him a jealous. 

“I was waiting for Ford! Come on, Sixer, we gotta go.” Stan grouses and Ford's eyes grow wide.

“Stanley! I'm sorry, Sir, he doesn't mean it, he gets rather unruly when his stomach is empty.” Ford babbles nervously. And annoyingly Evergreen agrees, rubs his stubbly chin. Why is the guy never clean shaven? That really peeves him.

“Understandable. Now that I think about it I feel a little hungry myself.” he gets up and gathers up his briefcase. “Maybe I should treat you two to lunch, as thanks for showing me your boat.”

“We'd love that! I mean we would be grateful!” Ford almost shouts and once again Stan is surprised when Evergreen, that ancient fart, turns to address Stan specifically.

“Anything in particular you want to eat, Stanley?”

Ford's excited tension quickly ebbs out of him and he stares at Stan with a confusion that makes Stan want to punch something yet again. From the looks of it, his brother doesn't get why Evergreen pays attention to someone like Stan either.

It takes enormous willpower not to try and tackle his teacher down. Wouldn't wanna break an old man's bones now, would he? “I'll eat at home.” he bites out and runs.

Ford catches up with him halfway, irritated and sulking. Not because of Evergreen, he realizes a little late, but because of Stan.

* * *

“You don't understand how much that means to me, Stanley, how could you ever understand? “Ford whines and pulls a book out of his locker. “Dr. Evergreen is... Lord, I can't even begin to describe his existence, his _intelligence_ , he even has an interest in the supernatural, a man of his stature who does not make fun of- and he even likes D D & more D! I want- … I need him to like me, do you understand? This is the first time I am meeting someone so... Someone I can respect and look up to.” There is this dreamy look on his face again that Stan found cute at first but that he's slowly coming to loathe. “We could be equals.” Ford sighs and slams his locker shut with force. “And you're ruining it.”

“What? What did I do?”

“Don't play dumb.” Ford scowls and it makes Stan shrink back a little. “You meet him with hostility wherever you can. I get the feeling he's starting to avoid me because of you. I gave it a lot of thought and it seems he is being considerate of our relationship. People have this weird notion that twins are closer than regular siblings-”

“-but we are!”

“Don't interrupt me! Are you really going to ruin my first and maybe only chance to exchange myself with someone who really understands me because of some- Some childish, _petty_ , and most likely undeserved grudge you nurse against him?”

That hurt. Stan's jaw sets defensively and he automatically straightens his back. That hurt.

“If he avoids you because of me he's not half as smart as you think he is.”

“He is _considerate_ , you ignoramus!”

“Maybe he's just tired of you _stalking_ him! Ever thought about that?? You're acting really fucking gay, no wonder the old geez-”

He doesn't manage to dodge the fist flying at his face in time but in hindsight, he should have seen it coming.

*

“Foolish!” Evergreen shouts as he marches up and down in front of their desks. “Immature little boys, both of you! Do you feel better now that you worked out your aggression on each other's faces??”

“He started it!” Ford cries but Stan barks right back.

“I started nothing! _You_ threw the first punch!”

“ Dr. Evergreen, Sir, I-”

“It does not matter who started it! A lesson I learned late in life that I wish someone would have hammered into my thick skull earlier.” Evergreen rolls up a stack of papers and beats it over Ford's head, not very hard but enough to make him flinch. “Do you have no self-control? You should be ashamed of yourself. I expected such behavior from him, but you?”

“Hey!” Stan knows he's not exactly known for his sensitivity but it's not like he's a school bully! Not yet anyway. Evergreen makes a sharp turn to point the rolled up stack of papers at Stan's face.

“And you. Stanley, I am very disappointed. Your _brother_ , Stanley. I thought you drew the line at family but I was clearly mistaken.” There. Right where it hurts. He bets Ford is happy, another thing he and fucking Evergreen have in common.

“I had to defend myself.” he grouses and Evergreen proceeds to smack the thing over Stan's head as well.

“Look at your brother's face and say that again!”

Stan doesn't need to look. “He got a lot of body hits in!” he almost stands up to lift his shirt and show off a place that he is sure is bruising but turns to his brother instead. “That's so fucking sneaky always doing it in a way that makes it look like I'm worse than you!”

Ford gasps, indignant. “You don't give me any other choice! I'm not trying to fight dirty I just have to take any chance I get with you!”

“And always in the same spots! That hurts like all hell!”

“Do you think this black eye doesn't hurt?!”

Stan groans with annoyance. “You ran into that one! I didn't mean to-”

“ENOUGH!” Evergreen booms and simultaneously slams a fist down on each of the young men's desks. His voice had such a volume that Stan thinks he may have heard it echo down the hallways through the closed door. He reluctantly shifts his attention from Ford to Evergreen and the light hits their teacher's glasses at this angle again. The one that makes it impossible to see his eyes and for once Stan is glad for it. From where they are sitting Evergreen looks tall as a bus and as if he could be twice as dangerous if he only wanted to be. As if he could just hit the gas and crush them.

He lets them sit in silence for half a minute before he straightens his back, sure of their respect or fear if nothing else and massages the bridge of his nose with a sigh that spells exhaustion.

“You can be proud of yourselves. You're the first students I am going to give detention. Of course, I will have to talk to your parents as well, you dented in three lockers and pushed over some of your fellow students in your quarrel, one of whom might have gotten a sprain. Do you want to tell me what that was about?” 

Stan looks down at the table. He's not going to rat Ford out if Ford doesn't rat him out. The following silence proves that Ford thinks the same. He thought that maybe Ford would prefer Evergreen over him. That maybe he would rather gain their teacher's useful favor than his brothers now useless loyalty but-

“Let me rephrase that. Who of you is going to tell me what that was about?” Stan can hear fabric rustling as Evergreen crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Let me be perfectly clear, with the proposed punishment you're still getting off easy. But if I don't get any cooperation from your side that shows remorse for your actions I can change that. Nobody is going to challenge my judgment no matter what I decide to do with you two, that I can guarantee you.”

Stan nervously side-eyes Ford but his brother doesn't seem to notice it. He just angrily stares at his own desk, fists clenched under the table.

“Okay,” Evergreen sighs defeated, which catches the twins attention. “Stanford Pines, you will be excluded from the science fair. You both may leave now. I'll see you tomorrow for detention.”

The chair screeches over the floor before Evergreen even completes his sentences. Ford's eyes are wide, shocked, puzzled. “But...!”

“Are you going to tell me what this was all about?”

Ford gets on his feet, grabs the table hard and whips his head around to glare at his brother with all the fury he can muster. “I...” he starts before his lower lip quivers and he sits back down, buries his face in his hands, rubs at it slow but hard.

Stan almost snaps at their teacher, almost asks him why only Ford gets extra punishment before he sees the cold calculated stare directed at himself and realizes how smart that guy really is. He's not just a nerd like his Poindexter, no, this old fuck is manipulative. 

He doesn't so much as glance in Ford's direction who seems to have trouble keeping it together, his whole attention is directed at Stan. Evergreen appears to know Stan couldn't give any less of a shit about what the school wants or thinks about him, that he's accustomed to being punished. It never taught him anything and that isn't going to change now. Instead, Evergreen is making Ford angrier at Stan. Angry enough that Ford will blame Stan for everything. The old fuck doesn't need to give Stan any extra punishment because he plans on making Ford do it for him and Ford probably doesn't even knows that he's being played because he's not a people person. And even if he knew he would probably go along with it willingly because he's got Evergreen's approval for it. Because Evergreen wants him to, and that might be worse.

Ford slams one of his fists on the table, not very hard but loud enough for Stan to realize that even under this much pressure Ford isn't going to tell on Stan even though this hurts Ford so much he's still sticking up for him and it makes his heart hammer like crazy. That's good, right? Why was he so worried? He idolizes Evergreen, sure, but he is Stan's brother. It's them forever. Obviously, Ford is on his side.

Or maybe... Maybe he's is worried what Evergreen would think if he heard the things Stan accused Ford of. What if this is all about Evergreen after all?

All the while their teacher continues to stare at him. The old fuck knows Ford won't cave. He knows Ford won't cave and knows that he needs Ford to break Stan. He just stands there and waits for the pressure he applied to do the work for him. Holy shit...

“Fine, I badmouthed you,” Stan says because he isn't going to wait until Ford is angry enough to cry in frustration. Because he wants Evergreen to know he understands the game he is playing. Because he would rather give up on his own terms than give the old geezer the full satisfaction of winning. “I was publicly talking shit and Ford stood up for you.” he leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest defensively. “And that's all that happened.” 

Ford must be looking at him now but at this very moment, he can't afford to pay him any attention. Evergreen is playing mind games because he found Stan's weak spot in Ford and other than the rest of the world Evergreen understands how to use Ford against him. Fuck. He messed up. Was he really that obvious about it? How much does he know?

Evergreen sighs and turns to Ford. “Is that accurate?”

“I.. y-yes. Yes, Sir.” Ford stutters and he sounds surprised. He probably didn't think Stan would take the fall for him. Probably thought Stan would do what he could to ruin his relationship with his favorite teacher. It's a little sad that Evergreen seems to understand Stan's motivations better than his own twin.

“Okay. You can contribute to the Science fair then.” Ford nods vigorously and _thanks Evergreen_. Stan lets out an exasperated breath. Of course, Ford would thank Evergreen, even though Stan made a sacrifice for him. Took all the fucking blame for something that Ford started. Ford threw the first punch! Ford- …

Ford threw the first punch.

* * *

The icy quiet on their way home gives Stan nasty goosebumps. Ford looks like he wants to talk but doesn't know what to say and Stan is sure that if he starts instead he won't find the words he needs to fix things either. So silence it is. Silence won't make anything better but at least it won't make things worse either. As men, they aren't supposed to talk about stuff like this anyway. Maybe they can come to a silent agreement to treat today as if it never happened and continue like usual tomorrow. That would be the best outcome Stan could think of right now and he hopes Ford comes to the same conclusion.

Late that night he can Ford whisper his name a few times. Seems like neither of them is able to find sleep, yet Stan remains silent in the bottom bunk, lets Ford whisper, hiss, and mumble different versions of his name for a while before Ford actually just starts talking in a hushed tone.

"Is it bad that I'm proud that I was able to hurt you?" he says that so quietly his voice is barely more than a loud breath but Stan hears it. He wants him to tell that's a good thing. That a man should always be proud of his strength and dexterity and that he surprised Stan with his skill. Stan knows he could have landed more and better hits on Ford if he _wanted_ , but why would he? He didn't lie when he said he merely defended himself. He didn't truly fight back. Yet, all things considered, Ford is a lot tougher than Stan wants to give him credit for. Acknowledging that Ford can fight if he wants to feels like becoming even more useless, so he keeps his mouth shut and his breathing slow and even.

"I'm not one of those. A... a homo. What I feel is nothing like _that_. It's the worst kind of insult you could have given me. I didn't mean to... but you know why I lashed out, don't you?" he swallows audibly and Stan imagines that Ford licks his dry lips. "Of course, you can't understand this feeling. I knew that already but I'm still disappointed." He takes a deep breath and sighs it out. "He's so special..." his voice wavers. "How he can be satisfied with teaching at a backward little high school like ours is beyond me but I- I'm so, so thankful that we got to meet, that he decided to do this for fun in his old age. I aspire to be like that.” He is quiet for a moment before he adds, “Just a little more successful." and Stan can hear the smile in his voice.

Stan wants to shout at Ford not to. Ford can't see what that guy really is. Evergreen doesn't treat him well and without his knowledge degraded him, Stanford Pines the smartest and nicest guy in town to what is essentially a tool. The old fucker doesn't return the respect Ford is giving him and he deserves none of it. Stan gets that Evergreen's brains are probably more similar to Ford's than that of anyone else they ever met and that is probably very interesting for Ford and shit but Evergreen is just- He's no good, especially for Ford. The idea that Ford might pick these things up from the guy makes him nauseous. Ford is amazing the way he is, a little naive and pretty slow when he has to deal with people but that is also very charming. If Ford was as good with people as he was with nerd-stuff he'd probably be a more intimidating character, and if he was a good fighter on top of that how could Stan ever hope to measure up to him, to be good enough?

"I think you're perfect," he mutters and immediately bites his tongue. That was a stupid thing to say. He knows that because he's Ford's brother, Ford won't put any value in his compliments but it just slipped out. For Stan, he is perfect the way he is. He wouldn't change him for all the money and hot babes in the world. But that doesn't matter and it hurts to admit that to himself. What he thinks doesn't matter to Ford. The older they get the smarter Ford appears to become and the bigger grows the rift between them. He wants to understand Ford so badly, he wants Ford to understand him, he wants them to understand each other but things are wrong somehow. Things weren't supposed to be like this.

Stan closes his eyes shut and presses his hands over his ears when Ford whispers back. He has a good idea what he's going to say and he doesn't want to hear it. He'll just have to wait a few more months. Not long and they will sail away and things will get better. They'll spend more time with each other than with other people and gradually grow back together where the world tore them apart. Once they are at sea Stan will sit and listen to Ford pouring out his big brain and smile and nod even though he understands nothing and Ford will sit and listen when Stan tells him whatever stupid stuff he thinks about and laugh and tell him he's funny. Once the Stan o' War sets sail everything will be better. He just has to survive Evergreen, that's all that might stand between him and Ford now.

* * *

Yesterday he just made them sit in silence until he let them go home. Told them to contemplate their actions. Stan just zoned out and tried to come up with new puns to work into conversation but Ford didn't do so well on that one. He wasn't allowed to pick up a book or start with his homework and for the first time, Stan realized that his brother his horrible at sitting still and doing nothing. That might have been torture for Ford.

Not so today. They are alone in the classroom with Evergreen who slams a small stack of paper on Ford's desk. Ford looks pretty relieved for someone who has just been handed a buttload of work and Stan groans as he waits for his own stack. Evergreen only pulls the first paper from the top of Ford's stack and slides it over onto Stan's desk. Positively puzzled Stan tries to pull it out from that big 6 fingered hand, ready to just write whatever and be done with it but Evergreen leans his full wait on it, not even looking at Stan who tries to pry the thing out from under their teacher's fingers.

Ford reaches for his own worksheets but Evergreen leans toward his table and catches his attention.

“This was supposed to be a reward, a fun little project I've been working on myself that I thought might interest you. I know the curriculum doesn't challenge you the way you need it and I had a little spare time to work something out you could actually benefit from.” Ford blushes ever so slightly which makes Stan's hands slow, his eagerness to start, finish and leave suddenly forgotten.

“Thank you, Dr. Ever-”

“ _However._ ” he interrupts Ford who immediately zips his mouth shut. “Now I had to reconstruct this into a disciplinary measure. You'll be in detention every afternoon until you finish this, you can take a week if you like but I am certain you can do it in 3 days if you put your mind to it. I won't answer any questions you have while you work and we won't discuss this once you are done. Just put it on my desk and we will pretend this never happened.”

Ford looks appalled. “That's too much, too harsh! You should at least allow me to ask questions when I need it, after all, it was all Stanley's fault in the first place! I don't deserve-”

“Stanford Filbrick Pines, if I wanted to really punish you I would let you look through it and burn it in front of your eyes, then let you twiddle your thumbs for the rest of your detention.” Evergreen states adamant. “Did I make myself clear?”

Ford swallows hard and nods slowly before he turns to look at whatever exercise Evergreen gave him. The shift in expression on his face makes it obvious that the moment he sees what the old bastard gave him he burns to discuss it. He has that desperately happy face on he shows whenever he is truly into something. It crosses interestingly with the sadness he feels when he realizes that he won't be able to talk to anyone about it who could comprehend it.

Evergreen turns to Stan. He finally lifts his hand from the worksheet and taps a finger on Stan's single paper. “Did you take a look at it?”

“Yeah.” Stan shrugs and finally takes a good look at whatever Evergreen cooked up for him. It's all handwritten and incredibly small so he will have to take a hard look at it to read it without glasses. The page is tightly packed but whatever Ford's got is probably, too. “That all?”

“It will keep you busy.” Evergreen replies in a slightly mocking tone, not actually answering the question but kind of doing so anyway. It is its own kind of humiliating to be told he's stupid in such a way. Ford has to work through how much paper? And going by the look on Ford's face really complicated stuff! And this is what he gives Stan for the same crime. One worksheet with a bunch of stuff on it that looks insultingly familiar when he squints.

The worst thing is that they both know the old geezer is right to 'underestimate' Stan like that. He can't deny that if he truly sat down and worked this might take him 3 days but probably more.

Evergreen takes the paper and flips it around revealing his punishment's literally double-sided nature and Stan groans. A look to the side reveals that whatever Ford is looking at is double-sided, too. He is already deep into it, mind disappearing and melding into whatever is in front of him as he flips pages and blindly reaches for a pen to mark what Stan assumes are relevant passages.

The noise of a chair being pulled over the floor reaches his ears and he looks at their teacher just in time to see him sit down across from Stan on his desk, making his space feel quite cramped.

“Go ahead. I'll be here if you have any questions.”

Moses, get a load of this guy! Stan rolls his eyes. “Look, you're wasting your time, Ford can profit more from-”

“Your brother doesn't need anyone to tell him how intelligent he is and he actually has fun finding the solution to difficult problems on his own. He takes pride in that. Stanley, when was the last time someone praised your intelligence?”

“Are you saying I'm stupid??” Stan spits, now visibly irritated. The guy wasn't subtle at hinting it until now but saying it like that is just- Fucking teachers! Damn them all to hell! It takes a lot of self-control to not jump and swing at the big red nose that looks too familiar so he grinds his teeth instead.

Evergreen shakes his head, puts his elbows down on Stan's desk, slowly invading Stan's space. “I'm saying that next to Stanford you probably look dumber than you actually are. Put a Sunflower next to a tree and it looks small, but that doesn't change the fact that it's still pretty tall for a flower, don't you think?”

“What are you trying to say here?” Stan lifts a brow. Evergreen sighs but he proves to be more patient with Stan than he usually is with Ford. He must have pretty low expectations of him.

“I just want you to put in some effort. You will see that once you get into it it's not that hard.”

“Doc, I think you're overestimating me. I mean did you see my grades? And that's only because Stanford lets me copy offa him.” he admits and he doesn't even notice it, too concentrated on telling Evergreen as politely as a Stan Pines can that he can go fuck himself. Like hell is he going to embarrass himself by getting all serious.

“I think you have a tendency to compare yourself with your brother and give up before you try. I'm certain that you can do better than what I've seen so far. Just try it, Stanley. All I want is for you to do your best.”

Stan eyes him up with a healthy amount of suspicion. “And what if I still can't do it even when I do my best?”

“Then I'll be proud that I got you to do your best and try harder to help you understand.” Evergreen smiles at him and Stan doesn't know how to react to that. Doesn't know what face to make. How is this punishment? This _is_ detention, right? This is just... incredibly uncomfortable.

“Stanley, it's fine. Just start wherever you like and take your time. I'll be here if you have questions and it's perfectly fine if you don't get it right on the first try. Just don't give up.”

“Okay. Where is the hook?”

“It's hard for you to ask for help, isn't it? You have trouble putting effort into things when you think you might fail. Your detention ends once you answered ¾ of these questions correctly. If you don't ask for help that might take some time, though. Time that you won't be able to spend on finishing that boat you treasure so much.”

Ah. More psychological bullshit. So his punishment is doing this stuff and asking a teacher he hates for help and not being allowed to leave before he did it right while Ford's is doing his stuff without being allowed to ask for advice and having to go without ever knowing whether or not what he delivered was right or even any good. 

Well fuck. He really doesn't like the guy. Stan wonders how many people feel the same with how effortlessly Evergreen seems to be able to get under their skin. Wonders where the man finds the time to look into peoples souls like that. That must be a lot of work and all things considered, couldn't possibly be worth it. He'll have to ask around to see how other students experiences with this guy are but the longer he thinks about it the clearer it is that they get special attention because of Ford. Because Evergreen noticed how special Ford is and Stan won't leave Ford alone so he has to include Stan. He hopes that annoys the irritating old fuck as much as it annoys Stan.

Evergreen explains to Stan that he can use his books and notes for help and reference but Stan just sits there and glares at him for a whole two hours before Evergreen lets them go. He makes Ford leave the notes he made with the worksheets.

* * *

Two days in Stan caves. He was prepared to sit through months of detention when it started just to spite the guy but sitting there with Evergreen staring at him and doing nothing starts to feel like a terrible mistake. The longer he looks at him the more Evergreen looks like an unholy crossbreed between Ford and Dad and it's becoming more than a little unsettling. It makes him feel... strange things. He wants to fulfill his father's expectations, he wants Ford to like him, he wants to be accepted and for someone to be proud of him and none of this is directed at Evergreen but the similarities that get harder and harder to ignore are getting to him.

He hates himself a little when he hears an almost happy little sigh as he reaches under his table to get out pen and paper to work.

But that's where it ends. Sure enough, what is written there looks familiar and when he gets his face close enough to read it he notices that this is all stuff that he's heard about in class at one time or another. Though, not just in Evergreen's subjects. There seems to be a little bit of everything. The thing is he hardly remembers anything he learned about anything ever. He has the basics down, he can read and write, do simple math like adding up figures and subtracting, dividing and multiplying but anything more complicated than the basics is lost on him.

This is just horrible. None of this is new but he finds there isn't one thing on the paper that he believes he can figure out on his own. The humiliation of it all is worse than the realization that he truly is as stupid as teachers have certified him since grade school. It's a gut punch. He always knew Dad was right about him but it's one thing knowing it in the back of his mind but a whole nother to face the facts up front.

“Is there anything you don't understand?” Evergreen interrupts him and Stan reigns his expression back in, tries to save face by ignoring the old man. He's allowed to use his books, right? He spends the rest of that day's detention looking through the books he has on him to find something relevant to any of the questions.

* * *

Stan pushes his notebook over the table toward Evergreen and the old bastard looks at it without betraying even a little bit of emotion on his features. He pushes the notebooks back over to Stan, taps his pointer to the top of the answer. 

“Which problem is this?”

“Uh,” Stan has to pull the worksheet close to take a look. “4b, page two?”

“Why is that a question?”

Stan rolls his eyes. “It's 4b page two, I'm sure.”

“Than write that here.” he says and taps his finger against the top of the notebook once more.

Stan throws his head back and groans, exasperated but does as he's told before he slides the notebook back over.

This time he can see that Evergreen is taking an interest. Something about the expression looks familiar. For the first time since detention started a few days ago, Evergreen pulls his fountain pen from his breast pocket and Stan sees red ink. It's funny but it looks like his writing is as hypnotizing in ink as it is in chalk. Beautiful. He needs a few seconds to realize just how much red is collecting on his exercise. 

When his notebook comes back Stan refuses to take more than a short look at it, frowns and makes a noise of pure irritation. 

“It was your first try.” Evergreen says in what Stan finds to be a rather patronizing tone. “And it wasn't all wrong.”

“Yes it was! Look you crossed it all out!”

“I crossed out the parts you made up.”

“I didn't make anything up!” Evergreen lifts a skeptic brow at him and Stan breaks eye contact, pulls his notebook closer to take another look. “Maybe I made some of it up.” he corrects himself and Evergreen snorts. He fucking _snorts_.

“Stan if you need help I'm here. Like I said, I won't do it for you but-”

“Oh my- could you just shut up I am reading this!” Stan growls and looks over Evergreen's notes. Evergreen crosses his arms over his chest and sighs.

“That's no way to talk to someone who is trying to help you. Especially if that someone is your teacher.”

“Yeah, sorry, but you can be really annoying.”

“Careful, Stanley, I can add a third page to-”

“Sorry,” Stan sits up a little straighter, slightly alarmed and finally he makes real eye-contact. “Sir,” he adds like an afterthought and clears his throat. Evergreen tilts his head back just so, just enough to make the light catch on his glasses again and stays quiet. Stan takes that as a good sign. Damn, with how casual Evergreen talked to them the last few weeks Stan kind of dropped all pretense. He's talking to him almost like he's...

Urgh. No. Stan shakes his head and looks back over the red ink. Apparently, his grammar is horrible and he made a lot of spelling errors, too. Some paragraphs he just crossed out and have the word “wrong” written on the side. A few sentences he drew squiggly little lines under with a question mark above it. A little lower on the side it just says “Evidence?” and right at the bottom, there is a small summary of all the things he got wrong and why they are wrong and advice on things that his answer is still lacking. 

Stan takes a deep breath, holds it for a moment and scratches his head before he blows a raspberry. He turns his head slightly, glances over at Ford who quickly turns his head to look back at his own exercise. It might just be Stan's imagination but he thinks Ford looks in their direction a lot since Stan started trying to work with Evergreen. And like he said it could be his imagination but he thinks Ford very jealous. Stan hates working on his grades almost as much as he hates Evergreen but seeing Ford this jealous is... kind of nice in a weird way. It's probably for Evergreen anyway but he wants to pretend it's for him. He wants to believe Ford doesn't like that Evergreen might be able to help Stan where Ford couldn't.

Evergreen knocks on the table and Stan's eyes are back front where he finds his teacher giving him an indecipherable look as he goes back to crossing his arms over his chest. “Try again.”

* * *

On their way home a small miracle happens. Ford complains about their teacher. He is incredibly agitated and can't stop talking about his reward turned punishment which seems to have something to do with engineering and the word “implant” falls more than once combined with “brainpower battery” or something. Basically, futuristic, science nerd-shit. Stan tells Ford he isn't cut out to go around punching people if he can't handle the consequences which makes Ford pretty angry, he gives Stan a shove and Stan can't help but laugh at his brothers huffy fit. After a few minutes it infects his twin and they end up playfully shoving each other for a while. By the time they reach home they are talking about the Stan o' War's sail.

* * *

Ford is three quarters through his stack of papers and visibly burns to discuss them but can't. He's chewing his pen to bits, and while pen chewing used to be a sign that he was engrossed in something when he was in grade school this relapse is more than a little excessive.

He didn't instantly feel sorry for Ford. He never thought Ford deserved punishment for this. Or anything, really. Yet on the first day of detention, he admittedly enjoyed seeing him struggle a little. But not anymore. This is just... unfair.

Evergreen clears his throat. “There you go.” He slides Stan's notebook back over the table and to Stan's surprise, there is barely any red on the page. He had to do it over 6 times, each time Evergreen would write him a long comment underneath to “help” but now there is just a check mark. He looks up, surprised that he got a pass for that one because Evergreen still crossed a few sentences out and corrected a bunch of careless mistakes but Evergreen just smiles affectionately at him. Stan's heart skips over the stone in his chest and he might possibly feel a teensy bit lightheaded.

“I told you so. You can do it if you try.” Evergreen hums and he sounds so... so content that Stan can't help but gape at him.

“I... yeah. Of course, I'm-” he starts but finds there is an unwelcome heat rising to his cheeks and quickly looks back down at his notebook, at the little red check mark that he actually worked pretty hard for. On his own. Well, with a little guidance but mostly on his own and it means more to him than he thought it could. Shit, his chest feels all kinds of tight.

Clenching his teeth he sucks in a sharp breath through his nose and goes to work on the next problem. It's strange how he feels the urge to immediately ask his teacher for advice on the part of the question he doesn't get rather than just go through it trial and error style again. He doesn't ask, though. He knows it would cut down the time he'll need for the exercise dramatically but it still feels kind of like giving up, like playing into the old man's cards or worse. Like paying him respect. Accepting Evergreen in some way or form is something he just can't bring himself to do. Stanley Pines is nothing if not consistent.

* * *

After Ford is finished with detention he seems kind of listless. Stan knows for a fact that it's because he never got to discuss his shit with Evergreen. Ford actually was two days longer in detention that he would have needed. Just sitting there and staring at Stan and Evergreen and hoping for some attention, for a sign that he was punished enough and could talk, _ask_ , could get what must be a library of thoughts and ideas from his chest but ultimately he seems to have given up. 

And now he just sits there with his head on his desk and looks kind of pained as the rest of their classmates start leaving.

“Wanna stay?” Stan asks and unpacks the things from his pack that he knows he'll need. Only two more problems and he is 3 quarters through the paper. Two more and he'll be free. He can do that today.

“No. Dr. Evergreen is not going to acknowledge my presence when he's supervising you anyway. He made that pretty clear.” Ford all but whines and he looks incredibly childish. “I'd kill to be in your shoes right now.”

“You wanna be the class idiot getting special detention for dummies?” Stan mocks and shortly after he realizes he's mocking himself but now he said it so whatever. 

“Hmmm... No. No, I don't.” Ford pouts and slowly starts packing his shit back in his bag. “Stan?”

“Hm.”

“You know you aren't inherently stupid, right?”

“Sure.” Stan rocks back in his chair a little.

“I mean, you seem to do fine in detention even without my help. If I would have known that I wouldn't have let you copy from me so much.”

So Ford really thought Stan is just stupid, huh? And Evergreen just changed that? Just like that? He can't tell whether or not he's happy about that. Especially since it's not exactly deserved. It's not like he actually understands what he does. He just does things until they are right. Evergreen gives him as many chances as he needs. And he needs a lot of chances. More than anyone else.

“Eh. I dunno. I had to repeat this stuff every day. Sooner or later I was bound to get it right.”

Ford gives him a look.

“Even a broken clock is right twice a day. A blind man may per chance hit the mark. Every dog has its day. Even a blind squirrel finds a nut every once in-”

“ _Stan._ ” Ford puffs and ruffles Stan's hair, almost makes him fall backward into the desk behind him before he sits up incredibly straight. Ford makes a face and wipes the pomade from Stan's hair off on the side of his pants, making it clear he acted on impulse. 

“Take a compliment.” he has a funny expression on his face as he says that and Stan must look kind of flabbergasted himself. That was supposed to be a compliment?

“Sixer, you-” he starts but Ford turns on his heel and rushes out of the classroom. Should- should he follow him? Does Ford want him to-

He hears the door again and for a moment he thinks Ford came back but it's just Evergreen and Stan remembers that, right, he still has detention. But Evergreen is old, if he just up and runs he can catch up with Ford, the old geezer won't be able to keep up. 

Get up. Get up and follow him, Stanley! But what if Ford doesn't want to be followed? What if he's not being coy what if he gets annoyed with Stan like so often lately?

Like every day, Evergreen pulls a chair up and plops down across from him as usual, he doesn't smile but he is obviously in rather high spirits. “Two more Problems, correct? This might be your last day in detention, Stanley. I've got to say I'm kind of proud. I knew you could do it but I admit I didn't expect you to do this well.” He picks up Stan's pen and starts playing with it with these 6 fingered hands he has no right to have.

“You worked hard.” he says with a hint of a smile playing around the corners of his mouth, and he looks up from the pen and- and Stan is rooted to his seat. He wants to follow Ford, he really wants to just run out of the room on the off chance that Ford is waiting for him around the corner and gives him a shy smile when they make eye-contact, he wants to get as far away from this old man as he can and try to talk to Ford more, try to get a little more affection from his brother, some much-needed attention, but- But Evergreen is saying all the right things. Hit's all the right spots so effortlessly that it's hard to just walk away. Especially knowing that Ford rarely ever says what Stan wants to hear. But Evergreen, he seems to know things about Stan that Stan himself doesn't even know yet and it makes him feel... bare and vulnerable in an uncomfortable way. Yet he finds himself craving more. 

“It's nothing,” Stan mutters and bows his head. But not because he's flustered or anything. Definitely not because of that.

“No, Stanley, it's a lot.”

“... Really?” 

Evergreen nods. “A little tutoring goes a long way, doesn't it?” he smirks complacently in a way that reminds Stan so much of Ford it's funny. Really funny. Funny enough to chuckle into his fist when he realizes that Ford could possibly look like this when the two of them are old men and Evergreen is long dead and buried. 

Evergreen gives him a curious look but when Stan doesn't interrupt him he continues. “I'd even go so far as to say you can do anything you put your mind to. You need a little more time than others-” Stan winces at that part, “but nobody can argue with the results. You can be proud of yourself, Stanley. Once you finish this you will have proven every person who ever told you that you couldn't do it wrong. Doesn't that feel nice.”

Stan isn't really sure he agrees but nods anyway. Right now he is a little preoccupied with trying to keep the little burn out of his eyes. He knows it means nothing because it comes from Evergreen and not from dad but the little similarities make it hard not to daydream. Rather than shove this small success in the faces of those who doubted him he wants Evergreen to keep talking, to give him more.

But much like Ford Evergreen directs all attention toward the problems in front of him rather than linger in a conversation that he has little to nothing to gain from and Stan doesn't have the balls to ask for more confirmation. Instead, he asks for his pen back and starts working, certain that he'll get to hear what he wants if he finishes this up.

For the first time in a long time, he feels like he has a value and as much as he hates to admit it the reason is this weirdo in front of him. This patient old son of a bitch. Kind of hard to believe someone other than Ford would give him the time of the day without expecting anything back.

And now that he thinks about it, it's probably got something to do with Ford in a roundabout way Stan is too stupid to get but for a moment it feels nice to think he is getting all this attention because Evergreen appreciates Stan in a way. Today is the last day, Stan will make sure of that so just for the rest of the day, just for now he wants to pretend he's worth the attention of this intelligent older man and he feels silly admitting that to himself but with just a little detention Evergreen kind of managed to make Stan realize something.

Being respected feels nice and appears to be an addictive sensation.

* * *

Soon Stan starts to stay a little longer after Evergreen's classes to ask questions about the subject matter. There is a lot he doesn't understand. To be honest he barely understands anything but he tries to keep it short. He wouldn't want the old man to think he's warming up to him or something. Stan Pines ain't ever gonna develop a soft spot for no-one (but Ford).

Evergreen is elated anyway. He looks a little surprised at first, is a little hectic and disorganized in his response. Surprisingly he is pretty awkward in a familiar way when he isn't properly prepared for what is in front of him which Stan admittedly kind of enjoys. Sadly Evergreen catches himself fast so his fun is cut short. Evergreen seems to genuinely enjoy being able to help Stan, even if it's just a little and Stan can't help but react to that. He's not giving in to Evergreen, he still doesn't like the man, but the attention is nice. It gives Stan a sort of confidence he never felt before, different from what he earned with his fists and headstrong attitude. And he feels a certain satisfaction when Ford stares at them with what he can only describe as longing.

* * *

“That stinks.”

“I know but I have to solder these parts and I already opened the window, what more do you want?"

“Maybe that you do that somewhere else?”

“I'm almost done, okay?”

Stan rolls his eyes and puts the pen he's using back between his nose and upper lip, holds it that way as he turns the page.

“What are you doing anyway?” Ford gripes and Stan whips his head back around, causing his pen to fly off and noisily roll over the floor. He gets up from the bottom bunk with a sigh.

“Homework.” Stan replies and Ford snorts a laugh in response.

“Good one.”

Stan just shrugs and sits back down, pen in hand, and picks his book back up. He isn't going to do _all_ of his homework. Some subjects are simply lost causes and he has come to terms with that, but... Okay, if he's honest he's just doing it for Evergreen's classes. Oh, so scandalous, somebody sue him. There is nothing wrong with investing time and effort when the return is right.

He wrinkles his nose and turns to throw Ford a mild glare. The soldered shit stinks real bad. Hopefully, the smell won't stick to anything. He has no idea how Ford can breathe so close to it, it kind of burns in Stan's nose even from this distance but looking at his face Ford is too entranced in his project to notice much of anything. Makes it all the more impressive that he asked Stan a follow-up question. It's proof that Ford thinks he's at least a little interesting.

* * *

Ford catches Evergreen in his lunch break, shows off a few notes on his Petra mobile thingy he does for the science fair. Stan told him a mobile sounds pretty boring and Ford tried to explain to him why it's not and that it is actually groundbreaking but even if Stan isn't entirely stupid he still doesn't get it. Whatever it is, Ford is going to win. No question. There isn't even in a contest in Stan's head, nobody here can hold a candle to Ford's big, awesome brain. Well, Evergreen probably could but with all due respect, he's _ancient_ , of course he'd be smarter. More life experience and all that jazz.

That doesn't matter here though. What matters is that Ford is awesome and whatever he's doing for the science fair will impress everyone who is capable of getting what it even is. So obviously douchebags like Crampelter couldn't care less and, yeah, admittedly Stan can't see the allure of this stuff either but he is endlessly proud of Ford anyway. What matters is that Ford has fun and impresses Evergreen who Stan feels is denying his twin the respect he deserves. He didn't care much before but since the old man started to encourage Stan in his studies he thinks he is underestimating Ford and that irks him. Sure, he sees that Ford is a genius but Stan isn't sure Evergreen really understands his brother's value.

* * *

Over the next few days, Stan observes something he can't call anything other than strange. Whenever Ford mentions his science fair project to Evergreen the geezer gets tense. Like, noticeably so. It's no surprise that Ford doesn't notice it. He just isn't very sensitive to other peoples emotions and stuff. People often think that's because Ford doesn't care, thinks he's so much better than others that he doesn't need to care but it's quite the opposite. Ford cares a lot, Stan knows that better than anyone. His brother just isn't good at showing it. Or noticing things about people.

And he can't take hints. Despite Evergreen's repeated attempts to change the subject, Ford pushes on, excited and almost adorably oblivious. Stan wonders why the doc is so uncomfortable with the topic and why he doesn't flat out reject Ford if he doesn't want to hear anything about it. He didn't use to be this sensitive about the petrum mobile machine until recently. Maybe because he threatened to ruin it for Ford not too long ago? But Stan didn't peg the old man as very emotional. Not like that anyway.

* * *

“Check this for me, will ya?” Stan carefully slaps his notebook on Ford's head. Ford sits up a little straighter and rolls his eyes but takes it out of his twin's hands and flips it open. For a brief moment Stan's eyes are drawn to the tiny gadget and tools his Ford was hunched over just a second ago that now lay abandoned in his lap as he lets them wait for perfection by his nimble fingers.

Ford raises a brow, makes Stan look back up and into his brother's face. “What's this?”

“Homework. Just spellcheck it.”

Ford laughs heartily. Stan doesn't. 

“Seriously?” the bespectacled twin smirks and Stan glowers right back before he grasps at his notebook but Ford quickly holds it out of his reach.

“Give it back!” Stan protests but Ford seems to enjoy himself in the role of the one who teases for once.

“This is the first time you've asked me to help you with something school related in _years_ , Stanley!” he sounds dangerously zealous as he tries to evade his brother's hands and Stan regrets his hasty decision to interrupt Ford.

“I ask for help all the time!”

“Nu-uh, you ask me to let you copy and help you cheat!” Ford lifts a leg and tries to push at Stan with his foot to get some distance between them and Stan grumpily retreats two steps back. “I'm not sure I remember the last time you actually did your homework properly, let alone asked me for _real help_. Why is that?”

Stan shrugs and crosses his arms in front of his chest, avoids eye-contact. Asking Ford for help was a mistake. He should have seen this coming. Story of his life. He was a little too caught up in the flow of things to think ahead, that was... stupid. Whatever. What's done is done and he'll get over the embarrassment. Of course, Ford would be judgmental. Stan can see it on his face as he looks over Stan's best effort.

“I don't want to know your opinion, just spellcheck, okay?”

“Hmmm.” Ford hums in response before he opens his hand toward Stan and makes grabby fingers. 

“What?”

“Pen.”

Stan rolls his eyes in turn but picks one from the cup on their desk before he walks back over to his brother. Ford mutters the obligatory thanks and immediately starts correcting things. It kind of hurts to see just how much there is to fix but Stan expected that much. That's why he stupidly asked for help in the first place. He'll pick a few things he'll fix but leave the rest wrong as to not make it look like he asked Ford for help. It's wrong to fish for praise like that but honestly, it's not really cheating. What's the worst that could happen?

“This is for...?” Ford tries carefully without looking up from the notebook and purposely avoids saying the name they are both thinking. This one Stan saw coming.

“What can I say? He's... a good teacher, I guess? I admit I might have been kind of wrong about him. A little bit. Kind of.”

Ford looks incredibly pleased with himself as he listens but still doesn't avert his eyes from Stan's horrible chicken scratch of a handwriting. “I knew you'd come around. He's quite the charismatic character, isn't he?”

“He's a character alright.” Stan sighs and plops down on the bed to Ford's feet.

Ford smiles sweetly. “Admirable. Intelligent. Upright.”

“Snobbish. Manipulative. Arrogant.”

Finally, Ford looks up but he gives Stan a sort of deadpan look like he _knows_ and is so done with Stan's shit, and Stan immediately relents, not in the mood for beef.

“Patient. Encouraging. Professional.” he adds self-consciously and Ford's expression shifts into something soft that Stan can't interpret for the life of him before his face adopts clearly victorious features. “Yeah, yeah. Save your _"I told you so_ "s. He's not all bad, but I'm far from being as much of a teacher's pet as you are.”

“You did your homework for himmm.” Ford sing songs and looks back down on the notebook.

“Someone is begging for a noogie and it's not me.”

“Say what you want but you like him. Dr. Evergreen hooked you and you're gladly letting yourself be reeled in.” Ford looks entirely too happy about that. So happy in fact that Stan is inclined to agree with him, just to not ruin the good mood that is developing here. Who'd have thought that they might be able to bond over Evergreen of all people? He wonders how long he could stretch out the conversation if he made the old geezer the hot topic. Said nice things about him.

Instead, Stan rolls his eyes with a loud sigh, still uncomfortable being entirely honest about his opinion. “Yeah, yeah. Fine, he's _somewhat_ likable.”

Ford grins. “If anyone ever needed any evidence that you aren't entirely stupid, here it is,” Ford replies jokingly but it stings. Stan laughs anyway because what is he supposed to say to this? Yet, as usual, Ford can't imagine how that feels and doesn't stop there. “I mean who would have thought? Stanley Pines doing his homework of his own accord, without any kind of threat or pressure. _To impress a teacher._ ” he chuckles and still doesn't have a clue that maybe that's the wrong thing to say. “Say, do I need to feel insulted that you never put that much effort into studying when _I_ tried to teach-”

Stan clears his throat loudly and pushes himself up to leave because he truly doesn't need this right now. He just worked his ass off for something he might not even have the courage to show to annoying old Evergreen and now Ford has the audacity to tease h- Before he can get even two steps away Ford grabs him by the back of the shirt, pulls him back down and unsuccessfully tries to get him into an awkward chokehold.

"There is no running from the truth, Lee!" Ford chuckles and tries to keep Stan down as best as he can.

It wouldn't be much of a struggle to throw Ford off if Stan wanted. While Ford wasn't the worst at boxing he definitely was no match for Stan, also he wrestles like a girl. And like with a girl Stan lets him win. Because that's a good excuse to receive a free hug... His face flushes slightly and halfheartedly pushes at Ford's arm who has way too much fun play fighting. Ford misunderstands and lets go.

"Sorry." he puffs with a smile and tries to rearrange his limbs in a way that doesn't put pressure on Stan's throat yet keeps him from fleeing. It's kind of nice when Ford ends up leaning heavily against him, reaches back for the notebook to continue his no doubt harsh judgement.

"This is nice," Ford says as if he read Stan's mind and Stan can't help but feel thankful for Evergreen's existence for once. It's like Ford is becoming himself again, rediscovered some of his childishness, his silliness. He's less distant now than he was half a year ago and Stan is sure he has to thank Evergreen for that.

A side glance reveals that Ford actually put his gadget aside before he pulled Stan down into that awkward tangle. Stan isn't sure why he finds that of all things so aggressively endearing. The nerd is anything but neat, actually, Ford is quite the slob but when something is important to him he will take care of it.

"Ford." he clears his throat, tries not to twiddle his thumbs nervously.

Meanwhile, Ford chews on the pen Stan gave him. Stan's pen. Urgh. "Hm?" 

"You're heavy."

Ford's concentrated expression shifts back into a smirk. "You're a big guy, Lee. I'm sure you can handle it."

* * *

It's not long before Stan starts to stop Evergreen between classes. Just to say hi. Just to have the dumb old man look at him for a moment, direct his attention Stan's way for a few seconds. He's not even sure himself why he wants it, he's still not particularly fond of him but the more time he spends with him the more connected he feels, the more he is flooded with a familiar need to monopolize. No, not really monopolize, it's less like that and more like- he's not sure. He's not jealous when Evergreen looks at others, not like with Ford where it makes his possessiveness spike whenever Ford so much as mentions a fleeting interest in other people. he doesn't think it's particularly weird to think that way about his twin. They are two halves of a whole after all. Also, Ford isn't exactly cool with it when Stan spends a lot of time with Carla either. Yeah! Stan's not the only jealous egg in this salad so his feelings are justified!

But Evergreen.

It's not like that. It's weird and uncomfortable and nerve-wracking in a way he is so entirely unfamiliar with that- Well... Maybe not entirely. It is not so much one familiar feeling as many familiar feelings that create something entirely new. He doesn't feel the need to compete for Evergreen's attention, he doesn't feel like he has to prove something to Evergreen or impress him, but he kind of wants to? He doesn't want to spend a lot of time with their teacher, he doesn't want to know what he's doing when Stan isn't around, he's not particularly interested in Evergreen's life either. But he wants to exist within his sight. He wants to be a part of him. In a way. It's... it's complicated. 

He grins at the old geezer as he mock-salutes after Evergreen told Stan he's going to be late before he jogs toward his locker where Ford is waiting, eager to get through the school day just so he can continue building his spinny machine for the science fair. 

Ford can't hide his amusement at the reversal of the situation but surprisingly keeps his mouth shut, content with just knowing glances that bother Stan just as much as words would have.

* * *

Stanford's science fair project is a huge success. The students that understand what it is are in awe, and so are the teachers. Evergreen doesn't seem to be as impressed as he should be in Stan's opinion, but he looks... strangely proud as he inspects the fruit of Ford's labour, tells him he expected no less from him, validates his accomplishment just that little bit more but a hint of flattered disappointment shows on Ford's face. He too probably expected more praise from the genius he idolizes.

Stan takes that as his cue to come running and glomp his twin. "See that! He won that! My brother did!" he shouts, not caring that he is far to close to said brother's ear as he points at the newest addition to Ford's overflowing trophy shelf. His laugh is almost manic and his grip on Ford becomes just a little bit tighter. "You gotta have a little more to say than that!" he intently stares at Evergreen who rolls his eyes with a patient smile.

"Don't be so demanding. You shouldn't expect the world to sing Stanford's praises every time he does something mildly impressive-"

"It's very impressive!" Stan insists despite neither understanding nor caring what it even is Ford build, causing Evergreen to sigh through his nose as his lips press into a thin line and the light once more catches on his glasses just so. Stan would feel mildly intimidated by that if he wasn't so busy showering Ford with well-deserved affection. Evergreen's attention shifts back to Stanford who has started to relax slightly under the arm laying around his shoulders. Stan didn't even notice his grip had loosened, must have happened on reflex once he felt Ford's muscles go slacker.

"Anyway, congratulations, Stanford. You deserve it."

"It's just a science fair experiment. As you said, no big deal." Stanford deflects, unusually shy about his accomplishments where he'd normally be more blunt.

"It is a big deal." Stan pouts and he can not just hear but feel it when Ford giggles light-heartedly. He looks happy. _Really_ happy. So happy it almost makes Stan tear up a little with relief. Ahh, damn! Why does he have to have such an adorable brother? Makes him look like a wuss! He quickly pulls on him, tries to noogie Ford to cover up his own overflowing emotions.

"Come here!" he laughs as Ford protests and squirms and seems to be unable to decide whether he wants to be mad or laugh too. Neither of them notices the melancholic look in their teacher's eyes.

* * *

"Now, Mr. Pines, I'd like to speak with you very frankly, if I may?"

"Very frankly is the only way I speak." dad grunts.

"You have two sons, one of them is incredibly gifted, the other one is standing outside this room and is named Stanley." Stan flinches slightly, waits, but instead of the voice he expects to hear speaking up to his defence next he hears Ma.

"What are y' saying?" she sounds confused.

"I'm saying your son Stanford is a genius! All his teachers are going bananas over his science fair experiment. You ever heard of West Coast Tech? Best college in the country. Their graduates turn science fiction in science fact! The admissions team is visiting tomorrow to check out Stanford's experiment. Your son may be a future millionaire, Mr. Pines."

There is a short pause before he hears dad again a slightly higher pitch to his voice. "I'm impressed." 

The words feel warm, even if they aren't for him, could never be for him, but he can imagine how good that must feel for Ford, and Ford deserves it, he does! But...

"But what about our little free spirit Stanley?" Ma asks expectantly and Stan winces yet his ears perk a little more at the mention of his name.

"That clown?" Ouch. "At this rate, he'll be lucky to graduate high school. Look, there's a saltwater taffy store on the dock and somebody's gotta get paid to scrape the barnacles off of it. Stanford's going places!" Stan slouches, leans against the door. He feels strangely heavy, too heavy for his skinny legs as he starts to slide down. "But hey, look at the bright sight, at least you'll have one son here in New Jersey forever." Stan waits. He listens for a few more minutes but his brother stays quiet.

Eventually, the conversation reaches its end. Goodbyes are spoken and panic rises in his chest when he realizes he can't blink back the hot feeling in his eyes, get rid of the tightness in his throat. Any moment they'll stand in front of him and know that he eavesdropped, that he is- ... Hurt. Just imagining the expression on dad's face once he sees him is enough to make him turn on his heel, send him running. He can't deal with that, not right after he declared that he is impressed by-

He storms out of the office and runs into someone's chest and stumbles backward, two hands grab him by the arms before he can fall. Startled he stares into a familiar set of eyes. 

"For- I- I mean- Evergreen, Sir." he clears his throat but the tightness won't leave, it feels like something is spilling over.

"Stanley, are you... Are you okay?" he sounds honestly worried and Stan can see it in the old man's expression. He can see that he knows something is wrong with Stan, see the pity and he barely swallows the sob stuck in his throat before he can hear the door behind him, can hear voices he heard only muffled through the door for the past 20 minutes so much clearer and the fear is back.

Before he can think he pushes past Evergreen who tries to get another, better hold of him but Stan is faster. He's not going to cry in front of his family, in front of his teacher, in front of anyone! He won't cry, period! Crying is unmanly! Crying is for pansies and kids and girls! Feeling hurt is for the weak! And he isn't weak!

Shit. Damnit! It's not like he didn't know it! He knows he's useless! He knows he can't compare to Stanford! Always knew it! But there is nothing to worry about because Stanford won't abandon him! He is special to his twin just as his twin is special to him! They have a bond like nobody else, so it will be okay! Definitely. He might not be okay right now but once he splashes some cold water onto his face in the bathroom he will catch Ford at the entrance, and Ford will ask him where he was and laugh because the dumb dean thought he'd be interested in going to some stuffy college for boring people when he could be sailing the world with his twin.

Ford loves him. They love each other. They are brothers, family, and that's more important than anything else. He will be okay, even when he isn't okay. It's okay.

* * *

Nothing is okay. And if he doesn't... If he can't fix this nothing will ever be okay again. He tries not to put too much thought into it when he gets up from the swingset and takes course. It's hard not to be terrified when he thinks about what happens tomorrow. Unless...

* * *

"STANLEY!" a man's booming voice echoes through the hall, unbridled ire evident coloring the youngest Pines brother's name and making the young man jump.

For a second, Stan freezes. _Busted._ He lifts his hands to show his empty palms in surrender eyes wide with terror as he does his best to appear innocent and confused. He's well aware of what this looks like from the outside.

"... What the hell do you think you're doing?" he hisses at the teen and- That voice... Evergreen? What's _he_ of all people still doing here? The sun is about to set, the guy should be long home doing whatever lame stuff teachers do in their free time!

Stan nervously glances over his shoulder and as usual, the light is catching on his teacher's glasses inconveniently. Never did he wish he could see someone's eyes as much as he does now. It's crucial for him to see his expression clearly to decide on what to say next, which direction to take this in. Watching Ma he learned the importance of custom tailoring his excuses and lies to the target for maximum effect. Never did so much ride on his ability to convince someone as today.

"It suddenly broke. I was trying to fix it." he rasps out and grimaces at the high nervous pitch in his tone. "I didn't mean to- It wasn't me, I swear!"

There is no reply, Evergreen just approaches slowly and walks out of the warm light the dusk provides, tinging the entire room behind the man in pinkish orange hues as Evergreen's scowl is doused in shadow. His steps are sure and heavier, heavier than they should be, Stan notices as the sound of his steps reverberates through the room. It's a menacing picture that instinctively causes Stan to take a step back, makes him feel the phantom sensation of a lump in his throat before he bumps in the table behind him. The table on which his brother's hard work smokes quietly and slows it's hypnotically swinging pendulums ever so gradually.

What now?

"Look, it's really not what it looks-" he doesn't see what swipes his legs out under him, probably a well placed kick, but he see's the fist suddenly flying toward his face. What-! _No!_ He barely dodges what was clearly meant to break his nose before he receives a punch in the gut. "Don't you dare!" Evergreen spits, venom in his voice while Stan collapses forward, retches, and drools on the floor in the process. The old fuck is fast! Again, he tries to comprehend what just happened and plan ahead but fails miserably, feels so very dizzy and nauseous. He gets no time to get his bearings as he is pulled back up by the front of his shirt.

"I knew it! I knew you wouldn't be able to resist!" Evergreen wrenches his eyes shut, grates his teeth before he snarls. " How could you?! You ruined m-! You ruined your brother's future! He could have been someone!" but he _is_ someone, Stan thinks groggily, clutches at the hand holding him up with one and his throbbing gut with the other. That's gonna bruise. "He could have fulfilled his dreams!" Evergreen continues to shout and Stan just can't help himself.

"His dream is to sail the-" he is interrupted by two strong six-fingered hands, shaking him violently before he is slapped in the face and it stings like hell, the smacking sound unbelievably loud yet there is no echo. Evergreen curses at him in a language that sounds very foreign until finally Stan's fight or flight reflex defeats his shock. He struggles against the fists curled into his shirt yet only succeeds in getting himself unceremoniously thrown to the floor for his trouble. _Get up!_ Evergreen tries to give him a kick but Stan catches his leg, attempts to pull on it and kick out the other to bring Evergreen down with him, force him into close combat on eye level. As a guy with two brother's Stan knows how to wrestle. But his kicks don't land, it's as if the old fuck saw him fight before, knows what to do to render Stan helpless before Stan even thinks of what to do. In a panic, Stan tries to bite into the calf his holding onto, gets a shoe pressed into his face instead. Evergreen quickly rolls him over onto his back with the leg Stan his so desperately trying to hold still. The shoe keeps resting on Stan's face as Evergreen stares down at him, cold anger burning in his weary old eyes. Suddenly he pulls his foot back only to bring back down on Stan's chest, hard. The heel digs painfully into Stan's sternum and Stan yelps as Evergreen leans forward and the pressure grows painful. "Shit, leggo! I said lemme go!" He squirms, kicks, punches the shin above him! Determined to defend himself, to fight and save himself until finally, Evergreen lifts his foot, lets Stan scoot backward over the floor. Stan gasps for breath, scrambles to pull himself up on a table. H-holy shit! Did... Was he just attacked by his teacher? By...

He gives Evergreen a once over and can't help but get stuck on the six-fingered hands that just assaulted him. Evergreen's hands are still balled into slightly oversized fists, thumb outside as to not dislocate it when striking a harder target and align the fingers properly to not injure them with the force of the hits he aimed at Stan, revealing a knowledge of fist fighting. Slowly his eyes wander back up as his breathing evens out. He knew Evergreen looked fitter than the average teacher but he seriously underestimated him. Stan may have power which is usually enough but he isn't dumb enough to think he could get out of this on his limited boxing skills and stubbornness alone.

Evergreen continues to stare him down, quiet, calculating and Stan knows that this man is pretty much holding all the card, whether Stan likes it or not. He's not going to get anywhere with violence now, knows his best choice is diplomacy, but simultaneously has no idea what to say, how to justify what just happened in such a manner- Evergreen suddenly breaks eye contact and clicks his tongue, visibly irritated, but calmer. His fists open before one hand lends on his hips and the other runs through his hair, combs it back as he lets out a deep sigh.

"I can't believe this." he growls in a tone that says he very much believes it but wishes he had no reason to, giving Stan a spark of hope that if he plays his cards right...

"I told you it's not what it looks like. It was an accident. I didn't mean to break the damn thing it just- It all happened so fast." he lowers his head, slightly hands his shoulder and waits, tense.

Evergreen's brows knit as his glare grows colder. Harder. "How long do you think I was standing behind you." It doesn't sound like a question.

It's hard to tell whether or not Evergreen is bluffing but he's probably not. Might be better to adapt, just to be safe. "I was just..." Stan bites his lip for a second, looking for the right word. "Frustrated! I was frustrated, so I hit the table. How could I know that thing would break if I so much as breathe on it."

Once again Evergreen takes a step forward and Stan flinches into a defensive position, fists raised. He ain't gonna be caught off guard again. Shit. Shit, shit, _shit!_ "Stanley, you hit the table 16 times."

Not good. Stan lowers his head a little, just enough to break eye contact once more, not comfortable looking away entirely but unable to withstand Evergreen's intense, icy glare. As much as he wants to turn away, doesn't want the one teacher that didn't perceive him as a failure to see his face, the old man is quicker on his feet than Stan and he can't afford to let him get another surprise hit in.

"I didn't want to break it," he mutters and hopes it sounds sorry. He knows he should be. "You gotta believe me. I would never..."

"You just did." Evergreen retorts and Stan can't help but grimace at how fast he replies. How sure Evergreen is he would hurt Ford even though the fucker doesn't even know the first thing about the situation. About _them_. About the real pain he feels just imagining a day that doesn't have Ford in it. The total despair that overcame him when he took it further and imagined Ford leaving him behind for good. Fuck! This has nothing to do with Evergreen yet If Stan didn't know better he'd say the man sounds personally offended.  
Damn. What now? What now? Evergreen seems determined to make Stan the bad guy. To see things that way, even though all Stan did was right something that went horribly wrong. If this guy tells anyone about what he saw... A shiver runs down his spine when he remembers what Evergreen told them during detention. Noone will question Evergreen, especially when it's Stan's word against that of a highly regarded teacher.

"You... You can't tell- I..." he gulps, nausea flooding him while all color leaves his face. "Please..."

Evergreen is quiet for a moment, maybe thinking about it, maybe, Stan hopes, changing his m- "The truth will come out one way or another. It's for the best." He sounds surprisingly calm for a guy who looked like he was ready to kill just minutes ago and somehow that is scarier than that consuming rage he faced just moments earlier.

"No! No, you can't! It was an accident! Nobody will understand, they'll think I did it out of jealousy but I'd never- He deserves so much more- I- Stanford, he- He would hate-" the last word tapers into a high pitched whimper and Stan quickly throws his head back, blinks rapidly against the heat building in his eyes. What if Stanford doesn't understand? _He never does, does he?_ "Please!" he sobs, begs.

What follows is deadly silence. _Stupid idiot_. He should have made sure he was alone. He should have thought this through. He should have better control over his impulses. He should have known there would be consequences if anything went wrong. He should have known it would backfire just like anything else he does. Why is he like that? Damn it. Damn it! This can't be happening! He can't- He won't- Stan's throat tightens slightly as he tries to keep it together in vain. THINK! Maybe he should just punch Evergreen! Maybe he should try to turn this into a brawl, throw a few tables over in the process and make it look like the machine broke in the process. Sure, that would still be his fault and he'd be in a lot of trouble if Evergreen still tells the tail the way he saw it he'll be in even more trouble but it would be better than doing nothing! Oh god, he's so screwed, isn't he? He's so

"I'll repair it for you." Evergreen breaks the harsh silence surrounding them and interrupts his frenzied thoughts and effortlessly grinds them to a sudden halt. The colors of dusk slowly change from warm oranges with hints of pink to a deep pink with purple tinges as night approaches, deepining the shadows around them eerily as Stan tries and fails to read his teacher's expression. 

That... What? 

"... What?" he says, unable to come up with something more eloquent or even hide his bewilderment.

"I will repair the perpetual motion machine for you." Evergreen repeats slowly, patiently, just as Stan came to know and like him, but what was before a relaxing trait that made him lower his guard like an idiot is now unnerving. This isn't just a teacher he kind of maybe looks up to a tiny little bit anymore. This is a man who attacked and to his great shame easily overwhelmed him just moments ago, who has everything he needs to make Stan miserable and who has proven himself on several occasions to be a rather capable puppeteer, pulling strings like Stan throws punches. With practiced skill.

Stan isn't sure what to answer, so he bites his tongue, tries to sort his thoughts as fast as possible. It's bad enough that he lacks behind the geniuses around him under normal circumstances but in situations like this, it's potentially dangerous. He should probably thank Evergreen first. Act as grateful as possible, regain some favor. That's probably his safest option and reinforces his argument that he made a horrible blunder.

Yet, if Evergreen does repair the thing Stanford will...

But does he really have a choice here? He either risks _everything_ or he risks _Ford_. One way or another his fuck up will cost him Ford now. There isn't a snowball's chance in hell to win, no matter what he does. He gambled and he lost. ... Fuck. Fuck his luck! Fuck it all!

"Thank you." he grits out and Evergreen's back straightens.

"Let's pack up then. I have the necessary tools in my apartment. If you assist me I'll be done before midnight."

Stan blinks, comically surprised as he points at himself. "You want _me_ to help?" he knows he can't help with any of this science stuff and for once he is truly glad about it. He really, truly doesn't want to be part of this, repair the machine that will destroy his life.

"Yes, _you_. If you think I am willing to spend a whole night fixing your mistake you are gravely mistaken. But if you are busy we can always leave things as they are and I'll call your parents to inform them-"

Stan has picked up the machine and rushed over before Evergreen can finish his sentence. "Let's go!" 

* * *

His car is small and red and reeks a little like moldy wet laundry. The drive is longer than Stan expected, maybe 20 minutes and the small apartment complex he stops at as it gets dark around them doesn't look very inviting either. It's not the only house on the street but it doesn't look like many people live around here and when he looks around he doesn't need to be a genius to know why. Stan can't help to clutch the hunk of metal that is ruining his life closer to his chest. It probably was a stupid idea to just rolls with it and come here, only moments before Evergreen offered to help he tried to beat Stan to a pulp and Evergreen was eerily unnervingly the whole ride here. After two failed attempts at mood lifting conversation to break the ice that had frozen over his teacher's expression Stan resigned himself to being mostly ignored and scheming an emergency plan.

Evergreen stops in front of a dark blue door with peeling paint on the third floor. With mild interest and a fluttering feeling in his stomach, Stan observes as his teacher fumbles with his keys and even uses the wrong one on the first try. Stan is almost a little relieved that he isn't the only one who is nervous, disregards any warning signs. A light wave of calm settles over the panic he worked himself into like a thin blanket. His fingers start to rub slow circles in the cool metal of the broken machine he is holding until finally, the door opens and he is wordlessly ushered in. The first thing he notices is the stuffy air wafting over him and a smell that reminds him of dirty dishes and a muted version of musky locker room scent before door closes behind him. Every hair on his body stands on edge when shortly after he hears it lock behind but he doesn't have long to mull over it before with the flick of a switch their surroundings are bathed in dim light, giving Stan a good look at Evergreens home. It's...

"Huh..."

The noise catches Evergreen's attention and for the first time since they left the school, they make eye contact. Evergreen lifts a brow.

"I dunno, it's less impressive than I imagined," Stan answers the unspoken question and Evergreen immediately clicks his tongue in response.

"Oh?" is it just Stan or does he sound miffed.

"Uh, well... for someone who always acts so condescending you..." Evergreen's lip curls up in distaste ever so slightly and for a moment Stan considers picking his words more carefully before he gets annoyed with himself and shrugs. Honestly, how much worse could he even make things at this point? "Okay, this place is empty as fuck. I know you're not married and all but this place is just... Did men not learn to take care of themselves in your time or anything? Or do teachers just not make enough money to live like, comfortably? I mean, wow, how do you even get by? No wonder you're hanging out at school so late, I wouldn't want to come home to a place like this either." And it's true. The place seems to be not just incredibly small and cramped but there is nothing in sight that couldn't count as 'bare essentials'.

He turns back to Evergreen when he hears him quietly mutter "condescending", obviously unhappy for a number of reasons. "Not everyone feels at home in a cluttered, chaotic environment," he adds and takes the few steps between the front door and his desk that stands under one of his 3 small windows. There is a little cooking niche to the left of it, and he can see the foot of a bed to the right that is crammed in a long tight space next to a door that would logically hide a tiny bathroom. It feels like a cold reality mirrored back at him through this pitiful bachelor's den.

There is nothing funny about it but he lets out a nervous chuckle anyway. "You know what's weird? Ford is super obsessed with you, looking for things you have in common and shit but this place is like- So _off_."

"How so?" Evergreen asks back, doesn't turn around and instead starts rummaging through a drawer which leaves Stan staring at his back.

"Well, for one Ford is like, a massive hoarder."

Evergreen clicks his tongue dismissively.

"No, it's true! You don't know him like I do! He hardly ever cleans up after himself and throws nothing away because he 'might need it again one day', I've been throwing out a lot of his stuff that just took up too much space over the years and he never even noticed it. If I had to describe Ford's favorite environment I'd say cluttered and chaotic describes it pretty well." This makes him earnestly smile as he lowers his head, looks down at the dead machine his brother worked so tirelessly on. All his ambition packed tightly into a metal case. "He's gonna get in so much trouble at college. I don't think he realizes how much of a slob he is." he snorts, tries to suppress a laugh. "Can you imagine the face of his poor roommate when he realizes he's been paired up with the messiest-"

"He isn't that bad." Evergreen interrupts sharply as he slams the drawer shut.

"Oh, he so is. You only see the finished product after it leaves the house. Don't get me wrong, I'm no clean freak, anything but, but Ford is pretty repulsive if left to his own devices. Though I guess he's gotten better with time and constant reminders from Ma, he was definitely worse when we were kids. Especially in that phase with the dead animals. Mostly road kill. I mean what kind of kid collects road kill to take it apart and _draw the insides_? God, we were nasty smelly back then... Looking back, no wonder we never made any friends!" Stan laughs, but it's hollow. If his brother really goes to that fancy smart people college there will probably be people who understand Ford and his weird hobbies better than he does. 

Slowly Evergreen gets up from under the desk and lowers a cardboard box onto it, begins to sort through what Stan thinks looks like a random assortment of wires and machine parts.

"So, yeah. Ford is... He's special in that way. He'll get in a lot of trouble without people to take care of him. All alone at college."

"He'll be fine." Evergreen sighs with a hint of irritation and Stan can't help but quietly snap back.

"You don't know that."

A beat of silence passes before Evergreen continues. "... Don't you think it's weird to be overprotective to such an extent. You're adults now, Stanley. Both of you."

Stan bites his lip. "It's natural, right? He's my brother. When he needs me I'll be there no matter how old we get. Even if it's just stupid stuff like making sure he doesn't go to school with rests of toothpaste stuck on his face, or brush his hair by force when he complains about having no time for it, or throw out books he hasn't touched in years that only gather dust, or to take away his tools and blackmail him into taking a shower when he is too absorbed in his little projects, or... Or just... for company. " Stan takes a deep breath, thinks back at the conversation he had with his brother on the swing set only hours ago.

"The point is when he needs me I'll be there in a heartbeat. If he needs someone to hold the flashlight while he hunts the Jersey Devil all night I'll hold the fucking flashlight even though we both know there is no Jersey Devil. When someone runs away with his glasses I'll chase 'em down even if it takes hours and I get pummeled in the process. And I guess someone's gotta be there to tell him to chew properly when he's too eager to get back to whatever he's working on that's more exciting than food." He shrugs. "What am I saying? Haha! It's not really any of your business, is it?"

Evergreen doesn't laugh, though. "If you don't want him to leave why don't you just tell him? You could have tried to talk about it maybe he would have understood your worries, maybe you could have found a compromise-"

Stan snorts a small laugh at that. “He never understands. But that's okay. He doesn't have to understand me, he just has to be there, and preferably... you know, happy. But I'd take an unhappy Stanford over no Stanford at all any day. You don't gotta twin so you won't understand but _he is my twin brother_ , there is this... invisible connection there. He's... There is nothing more important in my life, okay? I need nothing else as long as we're together, that's enough for me. I'm sure Ford could explain it better, but that's all there is to it. It's simple but really special.” Stan doesn't notice the melancholy in his voice when he smiles. "It's all I got."

A terribly uncomfortable silence spreads between them before finally Evergreen turns around and faces him, leans back against the desk, looking... conflicted.

"Evergreen?" He tries in what he hopes is a light-hearted tone but when that fails to elicit a reaction he clears his throat and adds a self-conscious "Sir?"

That seems to do the trick. The old man sighs and shakes his head before approaching, pointing at the broken device Stan is pressing against his stomach. "Be careful not to drop it. If you drop it I won't be able to fix it before the admissions team from West Coast Tech shows up to evaluate it. I'd be forced to expose your rotten behavior."

Stan's expression quickly changes into a frown, irritated that the old geezer had to ruin the friendly, almost casual atmosphere he was building so carefully. One that shows how much he loves his twin and Convinces Evergreen that Stan couldn't have intended to break his brother's machine. "I told you that was an accident! You really think I'd ruin this for Ford? On purpose?" he huffs the moment his teacher takes a step toward him.

Evergreen closes the short distance between them in two big strides and all too suddenly he is entirely too close. It reminds Stan painfully of the locked door behind him and how small this place is, _nowhere to run_ , and of the punch and almost kick he received earlier when his teacher lost his temper. Fuck, what is wrong with him he should have never gotten into his car! Coming here was a mistake, such a stupid, stupid, stupid decision and with his hands full he can't defend-

" _Stanley._ " Evergreen all but demands his full attention, calm yet stern in a potentially dangerous way, too reminiscent of Filbrick, which makes it impossible for Stan to deny it to him. "Don't drop it," he warns, his voice quiet and low and private in the too warm air between them.

Stanley tenses considerably when a broad old hand lands on his shoulder, his eyes follow it when it slowly glides down over his arm and coming to a stop over his elbow where it stays for a moment. Too long to be appropriate, putting light pressure on him that isn't meant to hold him in place and makes him ill at ease. Any moment now. Any moment the grip will tighten and he'll get punched again. Should he fight? Should he risk turning the chance he is holding so securely into useless scrap metal for good? Is this key that Ford made to open the door to a successful future and lock Stan out of his life worth getting beat up over? The hand that finally interrupts his thoughts isn't the one on his elbow but the one that suddenly pulls him in by the neck. It's too broad, he notices, big in a nerve-wrackingly familiar way and almost more distracting than the hot mouth pressing unceremoniously against his, the stubble brushing against his face.

 _Push him!_ The lips turn what could have been one kiss into something that could be considered more, soft dry lips moving against his shock slack mouth. _Punch him!_ His eyes are wide as dinner plates and his hands shake ever so slightly against metal. _You need your hands!_ Finally, Stan regains enough sense to turn his head and break the lip-contact, to back away but he doesn't get the chance to process what just happened. The hands are back before he can contemplate their loss, attempting to pull him back, back to that mouth! No!

Stan stumbles backward, suddenly too aware of the situation, of the kiss that was forced on him by an old man, by a teacher, but only one step back has him hitting the door. The door! He tries to shift the weight of the experiment in his arms to reach for the door handle when two hands slam against the door, one on each side of his head.

"It's locked." he reminds Stan and his voice is barely more than a whisper and then the mouth that stuck to his lips just seconds ago comes back down on him, brush against his cheek, his jaw while Stan stares at the wall to his right, his expression morphing back and forth between shock, fear, and confused anger.

"Stanley." Evergreen hums and his tone is so different from what Stan is used to it gives him goosebumps. "Stanley, look at me."

Slowly, very slowly Stan turns his head yet he doesn't look at Evergreen. He should have known there was a catch to the deal. Nothing is ever easy, is it?

"You're-" Stan starts and almost chokes on the weight of the situation. He's stupid, sure, but he's not an idiot. He can put 2 and 2 together. "You're a homo." he grunts, but Evergreen doesn't react at all, leans his forehead against Stan's and rubs their noses together in a way that makes Stan shudder. He thinks he can take that as a strong _yes_. He can't deny that he is deeply unsettled by the implications that come with that realization. He followed this old guy who is mad at him and who has no trouble overpowering him into his empty looking apartment in an almost abandoned looking house outside of town. Yeah... He can put 2 and 2 together. Evergreen's intentions are pretty clear now and Stan isn't sure he can handle it. Actually, he is sure he can't handle it, just thinking about it makes him sick and angry. 

He clings harder to the machine between their bodies when Evergreen leans in and starts to nibble on his earlobe in a way that is weirdly ticklish and makes goosebumps raise on his neck. 

"Stanley..." Evergreen sighs into his ear and Stan flinches, feels a dreadfully familiar warmth pool low in his stomach and clenches his eyes shut, more than a little alarmed by his own reaction.

"N-no." he stammers and shakes his head lightly. "I can't- I-" he licks his lips, mouth suddenly too dry to even swallow. "Look, I'm flattered," he really isn't. "But there's got to be another way to-"

"This will go one of two ways." Evergreen cuts him off. "Either you will tell me you want this, want me, beg me to punish you because you've been a bad boy today, Stanley, or I will pick up the phone and tell your father that you sabotaged your brother and cost the family potential millions and we will see how long it takes before he calls you a parasite who rides his brother coattails and kicks you to the curb."

"I..." Stan is at a loss for words, struck dumb by how well he can imagine that second part and by how cool Evergreen seems to be with that. How utterly ruthless- "You'd really force yourself on me? On a guy? I- I'm not exactly weak you know, I could cause you some serious harm!"

The old man takes a long deep breath, and despite the big piece of metal between them seems to close in on him, boxes him in against the door to the point that what little light the bulb on the ceiling behind them produces hardly reaches their faces anymore and the heat of his teacher's breath feels like it could singe Stan's skin, smells like coffee and weirdly enough a little like candy. Evergreen grinds his teeth for a moment before he answers with what Stan imagines is fake patience. "I'm not going to force anything, Stanley, but you will make a decision. Either you will fulfill my expectations, or I will tell your family that you failed to fulfill theirs."

Stan gulps, cornered in more than one way. "I don't want this." he rasps out and something changes in Evergreen's expression but Stan can't put his finger on what it is.

"I wonder what your brother will think when he hears how far you are willing to go to get what you want. How quickly you betrayed him and switched from congratulating him to crushing his dream when things didn't go your way."

"That's not-"

"Does it matter?" Evergreen nuzzles their noses together again before gently kisses the corner of Stan's tense mouth. "You're not stupid, Stanley, I know that, but you have a tendency to be incredibly selfish. When I tell your brother that you slammed your fist on the table until his Perpetuum Mobile machine broke what will he think?" the frown that was hiding underneath Evergreen's calm facade shows through and Stan feels himself begin to shake. "How important do you think is this path he chose to him if he is ready to cheerfully abandon everything he knows for it?"

Stan's throat tightens uncomfortably and he wants to say something but every defense he can bring up for his actions suddenly sounds like a lie, even to himself. "I'm not one of those." his voice breaks and his mouth is so dry his tongue tries to stick to the roof of his mouth when he speaks, makes him wonder where all his saliva went. "I have a girlfriend." Stan almost whines and Evergreen slowly leans forward, works his mouth against Stan's lips once more, more insistently this time and Stan clenches his eyes shut, holds his breath, his body still, and hates himself for letting this happen.

* * *

If the whole thing wasn't so terrifying it would be super funny. He was so right not to trust this manipulative piece of trash old man! He should have trusted his instinct! He should have- There are so many things he should have done, so why didn't he? Why is it that he only ever notices he made a mistake when it's too late to fix it? Why is he so stupid? Fuck...

In the back of his mind, he wonders how often the old man gets laid as he sits on the bottom edge of the queen size mattress, stalls for time as he takes his socks off. How much use does he get out of that big bed? Stan only ever did it in twin beds and sometimes in his car. It's a pity that the first time he gets to lay in such a big bed is going to be... with Evergreen. 

"Let me help." the man's low voice offers and Stan instinctively ducks away from the hands reaching for the hem of his shirt.

"I'm not a kid." he grouses and Evergreen rolls his eyes in response.

"It wasn't my intention to imply-"

"Shut up. Just... shut up." Stan grunts out and he's really not sure what to make of this. Evergreen is right, he isn't exactly forcing him but maybe it would be better if he did. If he was violent and let Stan struggle and fight it. That way Stan could push the responsibility on him. That way Evergreen couldn't pretend that this is okay. That way Stan could at least pretend that he doesn't do it because he wants to for his own conscience. Does choosing this make him a damn homo, too? The nausea that stuck with him since Evergreen first forced a kiss on him grows a little stronger and Stan's hand slow almost to a halt.

He's got a pretty good idea of what is going to happen here. Of where Evergreen intends to "stick it" and it makes him feel a little light headed. Gives him flashbacks to his first time, or more importantly Carla's first time and how much she hated it, how hard he had to work to get her to let him do it again. How much work it was to make it kinda enjoyable for her. That sometimes he still fucks up and accidentally hurts her. And other than Stan she was made to have sex like that. With someone inside her. A woman's body is made to be penetrated. And Stan- There is only one option when he thinks about it and it feels unnatural to imagine something going in where shit is meant to come out. It feels dirty and _wrong_ and he is just going to let it happen. Evergreen is going to sodomize him. But isn't his family worth it? Isn't his relationship to Ford worth it? There is nothing else he can do, right? This was the smart choice, right? God... What is he doing here?

Evergreen grabs the hem of Stan's shirt with both hands and pulls up, pulls it over his head before Stan can protest or struggle much.

"You're taking too long. Or do you want to stay overnight? That can be arranged." Stan freezes up when he looks at Evergreen's face and notices a hard little smile. Just moments ago he looked a lot less hostile, almost apologetic. Suddenly Stan isn't so sure anymore that he'd rather be forced, held down.... taken.

"Please don't," he whispers and searches for any cracks in Evergreen's facade, a place for him to tear a hole, to squeeze through, to get out of this.

Instead of responding Evergreen just reaches out, carefully cards 6 fingers through Stan's gelled hair, starts to intentionally mess it up but his expression doesn't change, doesn't betray his thoughts.

"Do you want me to take your pants off or can you do it yourself?" He inquires almost condescendingly and Stan looks away again, down at his open belt. Now that he thinks about it he was never fully nude for sex. In case they might be caught. Carla insists on it even when Stan parked the car so remotely nobody could possibly bother them. Maybe she gets a kick out of it, pretending they could be caught. Twice they almost got caught by her dad, Stan refused to do it in her room ever since no matter how tempting she made her offers because her father scares the living shit out of him. Stan scowls and feels slight stinging in his eyes. He'd rather face Carla's dad and get his just beating for fucking his daughter without having any intention of marrying her or even seeking his approval as her boyfriend than be here.

"Stanley." He looks back up and Evergreens fingers tug a little more insistently on his hair. "Your jeans. Now."

He nods and slowly works them down his legs, knows he should pull his boxers down with them but he is still stalling. He can turn this around if he just has a little more time, he is certain of that! He's not above humiliating himself to quite literally save his ass. Try to appear as weak and pitiful and miserable as possible. No matter how much he wants to, he can't run or fight. He can't risk it. If he makes a little more time he might be able to change Evergreen's mind. Make him see that this is crazy. 

Evergreen sighs, slightly exasperated. "You're impossible, you know that?" he kneels down in front of Stanley and pulls on the waistband of his boxers only for Stan to quickly grab his wrists. Wide-eyed and more scared than he wants to admit he strains to hold Evergreen's hands in place, weirded out by the six-fingered hands on his hips. Those hands shouldn't touch him there, not like that. That's not what he wants. 

After a beat of silence Evergreen's expression softens slightly, reveals a hint of that patient smile that made Stan lower his guard in the first place and leans up, and starts to kiss him again. Fully clothed he crawl higher onto the bed until Stan can feel the scratchy bedspread against his bare back. 

At least he doesn't stick his tongue in. Doing it like the french was always something he liked, loved how naughty he felt tangling tongues with Carla but now the mere thought twists knots into his guts. 

Big hands slowly pull his boxers over his thighs and Stan balls his hands into fists on the bed. Stan expects the old man to sit back and pull them off his legs, eye up the expanse of skin covered in a light mix of wiry hair and soft fuzz betraying his age but he doesn't. His hands roam back up his thighs, stroke against the side of his ass and up over his ribs before cupping one side of his chest each, lightly massaging it and it's weird. It's so damn weird. He's not a girl, there is nothing interesting about his chest, so why? He's not a girl! He's not a girl but he thinks right at this moment he might feel like one. Squeezed in the tight space between the mattress and the man above him who surprisingly looks a lot bigger from this angle makes him feel so utterly helpless. _Stop it now!_ He can't can he? There is no stopping this, is there?

He hates it. He hates the gentle kisses and the manly body crowding him against the bed the hands too similar to his brother's squeezing him carefully but it ends too soon when Evergreen decides to pick it up a notch. He licks his way into Stan's mouth and Stan turns his head away, grimaces as obviously as he can but Evergreen is completely unfazed, starts to kiss along the line of his jaw and over his neck where it's ticklish, where the geezer's stubble makes Stan want to squirm away while his teacher works on adjusting their position, shuffling them up the bed just a little bit more as he works his second knee between Stan's legs, starts to push them open. Stan reflexively tries to shut them once he notices the pressure, he knows it's futile once his knees dig into the sides of Evergreen's thighs, he won't be able to close his legs again before Evergreen has done his business but he can't help it. It's alien. Not at all how it is when Carla pushes his legs open to take him in her slim soft hand. There is something intimidating about it, gives the situation a finality Stan isn't prepared for. _This is real. It's happening for real!_

He's quick to lift his hands and push them against Evergreen clothed shoulders, his chest, "I can't! Please, don't make me, I- I can't!" he shoves at Evergreen, panicked, and against all odds it takes only seconds before the old man backs off, sits back on his heels and gives Stan some space that he uses to scoot further up the bed, create a bit more distance.

He can't believe that just worked. 

"You... You'll let me go?" he asks quietly, amazed at the effectiveness of what he refuses to call anything but an act. He's not scared. Sure this is creepy but he's not scared. Fear isn't manly.

"I'm not going to force you, Stanley." Evergreen pants, tries to catch his breath. Stan doesn't want to look, he's not looking _at it_ but it's impossible not to see the bulge straining against the thin fabric of Evergreen's pants.

"... Really?"

"Of course." he smiles. "I told you, you have a choice. If you think you can bear the consequences of your selfish actions you are welcome to leave."

* * *

There is this spot inside of him that lights him up like a sparkler in the darkness despite the painful stretch when Evergreen's fingers jab against it repeatedly. It's more intensely pleasurable than anything he experienced before to a point where it's too much and it scares him. Enough to throw dignity out the window and earnestly whimper for Evergreen not to touch him there but he only gets a small yet deep breathy laugh in response, teeth scraping against his shoulder as three fingers push in rough and deep and grind against that spot hard enough to make Stan cry out as his whole body shakes with the carnality it elicits. He can't do anything but helplessly cling to the man almost lying on top of him, not out of affection but raw desperation and he swears he can hear Evergreen mutter into his ear with pride but what Stan thinks he heard doesn't make any sense. "Just where I left it."

* * *

Getting fucked hurts. Its hardly like getting fingered, sure it's intrusive but Stan couldn't stay hard if he wanted to. The girth is uncomfortable but the fingers at least kind of prepared him for that. No, the length is the problem. Evergreen can't even get halfway in before Stan yelps and clenches hard enough to hurt both of them. Thankfully the lubrication makes things slide easier but after a certain point it feels like there is no more room left to fill but Evergreen keeps thrusting, pushing gradually further into him and with it the air out of Stan who has long given up on suppressing the noises. Noises like the weirdly high pitched mewling only interrupted by the pained grunts falling from his lips on every in-stroke. He can feel the occasional tear rolling down his face but he's certain he isn't crying. That is at least something, he thinks. 

But eventually, Evergreen thrusts in but fails to pull back, keeps pressing forward and Stan chokes on a sob as he is forcefully opened further. And suddenly he starts to blubber, hears himself begging in a voice he can hardly identify as his own, "You're hurting me, _please, you're hurting me!_ " He attempts to struggle to squirm but quickly freezes as the extra movement only makes it hurt more, so he pushes his hands against the older man's shoulders instead. It's no use. No matter how loudly he tries to make his distress heard Evergreen doesn't stop pushing until he is fully sheathed inside Stan, thighs pressed firmly against Stan's ass. Stan can hear Evergreen pant heavily even over his own sobbing "I missed this... You have no idea how much I missed this, Stanley." and Stan can't help but feel insulted by the pure bliss on the man's face, in his rough voice. 

They stay like this for what feels like a minute as Stan tries and fails to adjust to the fullness, the depth and the pressure of a cock inside him. He didn't look at it when he had the chance but it feels big, too big, and it fills him with dread when he realizes that this isn't that end, that they didn't even really start yet. And older men probably have more stamina than he has, don't they? More practice. With Carla Stan can keep going for almost 6 minutes now but Evergreen? Evergreen might hold out longer and the thought is terrifying, he's not even sure he can hold out for 6 minutes. God damn... Damn it all! He doesn't want this, none of it! He can feel the tears start up again and Evergreen immediately leans down to kiss them away. Tells him he didn't plan for it to be this way but Stan just made him so angry. He orders Stan to apologize for breaking something Evergreen himself didn't show any interest in in the first place while the teen's asshole twitches around the base of his dick and Stan is miserable because everything hurts and he's scared and nothing makes sense and he never felt more powerless and vulnerable than in this moment! It's like he's a little kid again, at the mercy of a powerful older man who controls his life, who he needs to pacify to save himself but he knows he can't. He can't do what this man wants and it's so, so very frightening he feels almost hysteric. Evergreen moans everytime Stan's distress makes him contract around him, the tight ring of muscle gives a long hard squeeze him every time Evergreen moves and he tells Stan not to lie, to say that he loves a little pain and Stan can't think straight. He can't recall all those times he really enjoyed the sting in his knuckles after punching someone, or the satisfactory ache in his body after holding his own in a brawl, but even if he could, this is too much! He hates this! This hurts in a place so much more delicate than he could have ever imagined and he feels so invaded, _so raped_. There is a dick in him. Hard and deep and probably leaking and it makes Stan nauseous when he allows himself to think about what is being done to him. Evergreen pinches his nipple and Stan's back arches but the older man doesn't let go, demands again that Stan says he likes a little pain and this time Stan complies right away.

Evergreen smiles at that, starts to slowly move his hips, pulls out about half an inch and slowly, carefully sinks back in before he mouths at Stan's jaw and establishes an incredibly lazy rhythm that still hurts but at least doesn't feel like it's killing Stan, causing him to suspect that maybe he did get a little used to that cock filling his ass and while he is thankful that he's not feeling like he's being torn apart anymore he's scared that this feeling might come to feel normal. That getting fucked by a man could feel less than wrong to him.

A small, soft peck on his lips pulls him out of his thoughts and Evergreen looks him straight in the eyes, relaxed and somewhat longing when he commands Stan to call him by his first name. Stan doesn't. No matter how many times Evergreen asks him to Stan denies him that. He doesn't call the name when Evergreen pinches and twists his nipple again, doesn't when he thrusts harder into him, doesn't when he picks up the speed and all he can do is cling to the shockingly firm clothed body above him and he rakes his fingernails over Evergreens back. No, he won't say it but he thinks it. Vulnerable and in dire need of consolation and aid and even though he knows it's not coming he can't help but shout it in his mind anyway. In his head, the only thing he can think is Stanford. Stanford. _Stanford_.

* * *

By the time Evergreen finally informs him he's getting close Stan is a mess, quivering putty in the older man's skilled hands. He even managed to get Stan hard and the only saving grace for his miserable soul is that despite finding enough physical enjoyment in the degrading act to have a reaction it's not enough to make him cum. And when he can finally hear Evergreen keen into his ear, almost bending Stan in half as he grinds against his ass and Stan feels the first hot spurt of semen against his insides he can't bring himself to be too disgusted even though he wants to be. He's just so relieved even though Evergreen is still pumping into him, sealing Stan's mouth with his own in what is no doubt intentioned to be a passionate kiss but just feels hard and sloppy to Stan as he finally feels himself start to relax around the cock twitching inside him and the sensation is weird enough to make him shudder. He unintentionally milks his teacher with a few last clenches before the tension ebbs out of him while Evergreen slows down. He lets out a deep sigh, attempts to catch his breath. _That's it_ he thinks. _He did it._ Stan closes his eyes, tries to concentrate on his breathing and nothing else, when out of the blue he feels 6 calloused fingers wrap around his own hard on and the thrusting picks back up, not in such a harsh rhythm as before but its still enough to make it sting even though he feels so loose down there now.

The old man needs all of 2 minutes to make Stan cum with an ass full of jizz and fat but softening cock. Never in his life did Stan feel more humiliated or defeated. They lay like that for minutes but Stan refuses to look at Evergreen and the only sounds he can hear are their heavy breathing and his own frantically beating heart slowly calming down until finally, Evergreen decides to pull out of Stan's abused hole. Stan hisses, slightly dizzy and overly sensitive as Evergreen rolls off him to Stan's side and it shocks him how uncomfortably empty he feels. Or more specifically, how empty his ass feels. Like being constantly stretched by something big and hot and heavy is its natural state of being now and suddenly something is missing that it wants to be there. It's terrifying because when it was in it hurt but now that it's out it feels wrong too and he can't wrap his head around that.  
Does that mean he's a homo? He can't imagine that a normal man feels like this after being forced into- into... Stan can't help but slowly reach down between his legs and carefully feel around and indeed his butthole is slightly gaping, twitching closed but not closing completely and he is really scared it might stay that way. That can't be normal. That's just not normal, is it? So like- what? Is his ass still open because it wants to be filled again even though Stan wants nothing more than to be alone and never be touched by anyone ever again? Did Evergreen make his ass gay? He doesn't understand, he's not even sure he understands what he just allowed to happen on more than a basic level and it's kind of mortifying when he thinks about it so he tries not to.

Something trickles slowly out of him and drips down his crack and Stan shivers. He never thought he'd get to experience first hand why Carla doesn't want him to come inside of her even on safe days. It's strange but he feels a small pang of sympathy as Evergreen's release leaks out of him and he thinks he can kind of relate to women now but he won't ever be able to tell anyone why. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down but grimaces shortly after. The room still stinks, only that sex is now the domineering smell in the mix and he doesn't want to think about how long Evergreen will breathe it in after Stan leaves and remember this but he still does.

A weary sigh from his right draws his attention and he glances over to his right, spies for Evergreen who stares at the ceiling, and he looks distant and... unsatisfied.

"You' can't tell anyone now," Stan croaks and is surprised just how tired and hoarse he sounds, worse than he anticipated. "And you'll fix the machine, right?"

He waits for an answer but he doesn't get one. Just an uneasy sigh of "It wasn't supposed to be like this." that doesn't make much sense to him. But then again, all day long nothing made sense to him so why would that change now.

* * *

The moment Evergreen goes to take a shower Stan is quick to scoot over to the foot of the bed to pick his clothes up and get dressed as speedily as he can with his whole body quaking like something newborn and aching like something stone old. He doesn't want to be here when Evergreen comes back out. He doesn't want to get in the shower here, doesn't want to be naked around the bastard that stayed dressed throughout the process for a second longer than he has to be, doesn't want to be around _Evergreen_ for a second longer than he has to be. He doesn't even tie his shoes before he gets up and realizes that he can't really stand, not only does it hurt but his legs refuse to support him and he can feel himself panic because he doesn't know how long the older man intends to shower. He needs to get out of here. _Now._

He's not sure how he does it and it's sure as hell not elegant but he makes it out of the building and starts walking as fast as he can. Away from the road toward the ocean. Once he gets there he'll just have to follow the shoreline until he reaches Glass Shard Beach. And that's what he does. It's really dark and even though the stars are beautiful tonight he feels no appreciation for the sight, eyes fixed on a bunch of small dots of light down the beach that lead him home. The air smells cool and salty, a stark contrast to the stuffy air inside Evergreens apartment and it cools the sheen of sweat on his skin as he moves. And the longer he forces himself to walk the less he trembles, despite the pain that hits him in waves, the calmer he feels, despite the wordless screaming in his head. But the feeling of emptiness increases. Transcendents the physical until it he feels frighteningly light like the wind could blow him away with ease yet simultaneously so heavy it's hard to move and every step he takes is tedious. 

Time escapes him. It's probably a few hours later when he finally reaches the Stan o' War and stops. Stares. It's funny that he almost cried when he fled from the dean's office, too emotional about the mere possibility of losing Ford. And now Ford will definitely leave for college and Stan got his ass wrecked got... raped, and he can't spare a tear. He just feels... There is no better word for it. He feels empty. Like there is nothing left inside him. No tears, no laughter, no punching, all gone. Man... He said “please” so many times tonight, more than on every other day of his life combined, and what good did it do him? He's not sure what to do now. How to act when he goes home, when he faces Ma and Dad and Ford. When he meets his homo teacher again. 

He's disgusted with himself, with how apathetic he is, with what Evergreen did, with Ford's decision to leave, that much he knows, yet in this very moment in the darkness on the beach with the waves rolling up the shore and in front of the boat that was supposed to fulfill dreams he just can't bring himself to feel anything. He's sure that the moment his emotions flood back into him it's going to be horrible and he won't know what to do but right that instant he feels pretty dead and he is okay with that. He'd be stupid if he was eager to face his feelings about everything that happened today because he's pretty sure it might be enough to kill him. That or he's being dramatic, he can't exactly tell right now.

* * *

Stan climbs in through the window Ford must have thoughtfully left open for him because Dad has this policy that whoever comes home after he locks the doors has to sleep outside. It takes longer than usual to get up and Stan winces constantly but eventually, he is back inside where Ford gawks at him, almost drops the brochure he was holding onto his lap and jumps from... Stan's bed.

"Where were you!" he hisses, keeps his voice down to not wake their parents. "Do you have any idea how late it is? I thought you said you only wanted to stay at the beach _a little_ longer, just what is your definition of-"

Stan interrupts him with a loud annoyed groan that has Ford shushing at him. "Let's not do this now, Sixer. I'm really tired."

"Keep it down! You know how paper thin the walls here are!"

"I. Don't. Care." Stan exclaims boldly, opening his arms wide in a come at me pose that Ford knows isn't so much directed at him as it is at Dad and it puzzles him. Stan always acts tough and like he ain't scared of nothing but they are both very intimidated by their father and while they would never talk about it they both know it. "I'm gonna use the bathroom, you better not be on my bed when I come back. He frowns and crosses the room.

"...Stan?" Ford whispers and normally he would feel happy about the unclouded worry he hears but he can't now. Right now the last thing he wants is the attention of another six-fingered genius so Stan ignores his twin which is a mistake. Before Stan reaches the door Ford rushes to his side.

"Stan you're limping," he states quietly. He looks alarmed and attempts to make eye-contact, invades Stan's space in a way that is normal for them, in a way he is usually more than comfortable with, even longs for but right now it just freaks him out, makes him back away and suddenly there is a hand on Stan's shoulder squeezing him, holding him in place and something in him snaps, breaks. He slaps Ford's helping hand away and gives him a harsh shove that has his brother stumbling backward.

"Don't fucking touch me," he growls, barely able to keep his voice quiet, suddenly terrified, overcome with more than he can handle and ready to defend himself like he couldn't before, like he desperately wanted to all evening, even if this isn't the right six-fingered genius to direct this feeling at it's the only place this feeling can go now. Just a few hours ago he was screaming in his head for his brother to come to his rescue, to hold him, give him some form of comfort, _anything_ , repeating his name in his mind like a prayer and now he can't even look at him.

Ford appears to be shocked for a moment but he recovers quickly, visibly offended by Stan's rejection. “Is this about me going to college?"

Stan flinches on the last word, struck hard by just the mention of the root of all evil and bites out a barely audible "Leave me alone." before he rips the door open.

"Fine, be like that!" Ford hisses and quickly shuts the door behind Stan, locking him out and the sound of that alarms him more than it should, makes him wonder if he'll ever think of a door locking behind him the same way as he makes his way to the bathroom to clean the mess underneath his clothes, investigate the extent of the damage. 

He spends the night on the rug in front of the bathtub, unable to relax with the door unlocked but unable to properly lock himself in either. He recalls the many times Ford told Stan he was strong, tries to tell himself no matter what he'll be able to handle it. "You're a big guy, Lee. I'm sure you can handle it." he mumbles under his breath, feeling small and weak and weirdly alone.

* * *

Stan sits at his desk in class and watches absentmindedly as Ford gushes about WCT to Evergreen. The last few days he is talking about nothing else and it gives Stan anxiety that has nowhere to go so he bottles it up because who could he talk to? Everyone is so happy for Ford and Ford himself is so incredibly excited that it's hard to do more than smile nod and pretend he's fine with this. Evergreen laughs and tells Ford to calm down, says Ford deserves it and congratulates him.

And then he asks him what he will do with the Stan o' War now and Ford says _he doesn't know_. "It probably doesn't matter, we could have never sailed away in that nutshell anyway." And has the gall to laugh like believing that that was a possibility was _funny_ , like that was a silly childish dream he has long grown out of because smart people don't have silly childish dreams and Stan feels so mocked and betrayed. Why did he go so far to protect this dream again? Was it really worth it? He stands up and leaves without a word because he can't stand it. He can't stand being in the same room with them.

Nobody follows him and he is simultaneously disappointed and relieved when he realizes that. Unsure whether or not that is a good or a bad thing but certain that it is lonely as heck and that he won't return to the classroom today.

* * *

Graduation slowly closes in on the twins and with every day Ford has less time to spend with Stan, more things to say about WCT and more energy to spend than in a long long time. It's like the route fate has led him on is giving him new life by draining it out Stan and Ford doesn't even notice. He doesn't seem to care that Stan ducks away from his touches with fake laughter, that eye-contact has become increasingly sparse and that Stan skips school more often than not now. He spends most of his days alone at the beach now. Often in that little cave where they found the wreck that became their baby where nobody is likely to find him. 

He gets into a lot more fights now, he actually picks them, starts the brawls he's involved in for no good reason, which gets him in trouble but it doesn't change anything. Dad punches him in the face, tells him he's a good for nothing loser and goes right back to telling Ford to make him proud at college. There is no getting in between and it's suffocating. He feels like he's drowning whenever he is around people.

Dad is pressing for Stan to find a job, makes it clear that he won't house a freeloader and Ma keeps telling him not to worry, that things will turn out fine but she doesn't actually help either. What she does is tell him she asked this one teacher for advice who looks so much like her Stanford because he seems to 'think highly' of Stanley and everything after that kind of blurred together in his head. He didn't hear much of what she said.

* * *

Today is the day. It had to happen eventually, Stan ponders and picks at the Stan o' Wars rail as he's leaning on it. Just like all of his hopes and dreams she is stranded indefinitely. Ford is going to leave him in this dump and fulfill what all of a sudden has become his lifelong dream Stan only ever heard of after the science fair. Stan got out of the house early this morning, almost woke up Ford when he got dressed before he made himself a sandwich and went to the beach. He's not going to wish Ford well and tell him goodbye because he knows he'll break down in tears and beg him not to go, ask him to take Stan with him and he doesn't think he could survive that rejection. He hasn't been feeling quite like himself lately and he knows for sure that he doesn't have enough strength left to pretend he's fine and happy when Ford has no problem leaving him for god knows how long. Maybe forever.

He doesn't want admit it to himself but part of why he feels so insecure around his twin these days is probably because ever since _that night_ Ford started to look more and more like Evergreen to him. 

"STANLEY!" Stan almost falls over the rail when he hears that voice and his whole body tenses. _Run away? Fight?_ He feels like a spring coiling tightly, ready to jump once the trigger is hit.

And as if to prove him right Ford climbs on deck behind him, makes him wonder how he could mishear the voice of his twin so badly. "What the heck are you doing here, Sixer, ya almost scared me to death!" Stan accuses and Ford giggles in a way only somebody with no worries left can.

"I could ask you the same question. I wanted to ask you if I could take this with me and realized you weren't at home." Ford lifts the last of their marbles into Stan's field of vision. Stan can't help but gape openly, he thought they had gambled them all away! They had quite a lot when they were kids but they didn't play the game very well.

"Aw, man! I didn't see one o' these in forever, I totally forgot about them."

"I know, right?" Ford smiles and pockets it. "That's why I figure you won't miss it if I take it."

Stan nods and his expression slowly sinks. "So... today, huh?" he mumbles and lifts a hand to nervously scratch at his nose.

"Yup." Ford beams and Stan hears it in his voice he can't wait to leave. It's painful and he has to bite his lip to keep it together.

Ford came for him, that counts for something, right? He noticed Stan wasn't there and came looking for him! He cares, Ford cares! Stan turns his head to look at his twin and realizes that his happy expression his muted and it makes Stan's heart beat higher with something he didn't feel in a while.

"Ford." he inquires hopefully and Ford hunches his shoulders a little. "If you got something to tell me just tell me."

Ford wrings his hands and tries to laugh it off. "Yeah, I guess the thing with the marble was a little too obvious, wasn't it?"

Stan's eyes widen slightly and his hands feel clammy as he nods.

"The truth is I'm not here because I want to ask you something but because..." Ford licks his lips nervously and Stan is immediately drawn to the movement and he's not sure how he feels about that. A few months ago he wouldn't have thought much of it but a lot has happened since then and innocent little fixations like that have become increasingly complicated. Things are different now, he is aware of that, he is more aware than ever that Ford is his family and a man but apparently all that pales in the face of a love carefully groomed over almost 18 years.

He can't help but smile. "It's okay, Sixer, I love ya, too." he sighs and Ford's eyes shoot into his hairline. 

"What? No! I mean, yeah sure I love you, too, I guess, but that's not what I'm here for." he waves a hand as if to get rid of an annoying fly and rolls his eyes like Stan just said something completely ridiculous. "Dr. Evergreen came to see me off and-"

Stan gasps, loud and indignant before he starts screaming. Not even words just loud angry screaming that has Ford clapping his hands over his ears and grimace in confusion.

"Stop that! I said STOP!" he chastises and soon after Stan is out of breath and gasps again only that this time he doesn't it follow it up with a scream but with shouting. 

"Like I wanna know what the old bastard wanted! He can go die in a ditch for all I care!"

"Stanley!" Ford looks about ready to start a fight and Stan is close to tears, wonders if maybe they should part like this, after a fight, because maybe that would make the loss feel less onesided. "He is worried about you, show some respect! He put so much effort into helping you-"

Stan laughs, shrill and bitter. Evergreen put so much more than effort into him and it's hilarious how clueless Ford is, how little he noticed! He should have noticed, right? Ford is so smart, why didn't he notice something was wrong? Why is that fucking homo so much more important than his own brother?! 

"What's so funny about that?" Ford yells. "Explain it to me because I don't get it! What the hell is wrong with you?! Lately, you've become such a pain to deal with!"

"Oh, sure! Because you've been such a joy to deal with since you've become _the chosen one_ , Mr. Perfect Genius!" Stan barks back and laughs harder, a hollow sound.

Ford gnashes his teeth in response, frustrated beyond measure. "I have no idea what Dr. Evergreen sees in you but he asked me to deliver this message because he knows I'm the only one you even remotely listen to so do me one last favor and LISTEN!"

Stan's laughter quickly tapers off into silence in the face of the force Ford delivers this line with. _One last favor._ It hurts. It hurts like he's being crushed from the outside and it breaks so many things really deep inside him.

"Dr. Evergreen handed his resignation in and will leave Glass Shard Beach to continue his studies and he would like you, yes, _you_ of all people as an apprentice. God knows why because I don't." Ford straightens his back and crosses his arms behind himself. "Our parents have both already told him they would be happy if he took you and I think you should count yourself lucky because this is a once in a lifetime opportunity for you. He'll come by tomorrow to get your answer but if you got any brains you _will_ say yes." Ford lets out a deep sigh and lowers his head slightly, lets the message sink in for a moment. "I admit I am a little relieved that he'll take you. I... started to feel a little bad about what you'll do here on your own but this way we both get what we want!" He gives Stan a shy little smile that quickly gains confidence despite Stan's shocked grimace.

"... we both..." Stan starts but he feels so incredibly lost in what he just heard that he just can't connect things properly in his mind.

"I get to go to West Coast Tech and make a name for myself, and you will get to go on adventures, and with someone as capable as Dr. Evergreen by your side, I won't have to worry whether you'll get in trouble you can't get out of on your own! Isn't that perfect?" Ford chimes with enormous enthusiasm and Stan just...

He puffs out the breath he was holding, in total disbelief.

"Stanley?" Ford prodds, obviously thinking he got it all figured out and like usual waiting for praise from his supportive brother or something and Stan. Just. _Can't_.

"HA! Haha... hah." He tries to smile but he knows it looks as empty and fake as it feels. This is it, isn't it? This is all there is. He takes a long deep breath... And blindly swings at Ford. It hits him in his stupidly, adorably, dimply oblivious chin and Stan doesn't stop when Ford yelps and moans in pain, barely ducking away under Stan's left before instinctively tackling Stan to the floor, knocking the air out of the bulkier twin. Ford doesn't waste time and quickly slips under the railing and off the boat but Stan has fury on his side. He doesn't think anymore he just jumps over the boat's rail and barely manages to catch Ford and pull him down into the Sand. 

"Who the fuck cares about adventures!" He shouts and rolls on top of Ford, straddles him and attempts to pummel him in the face. And he's not pulling punches. "It was never _about_ adventures it was about YOU, you ignorant nerd robot! You really feel nothing for me, do ya?! Cold as the metal you're working with!" he sobs.

"Stanley!" Ford tries to interject but hardly gets a word out in between trying to block the incoming hits.

"And now you're leaving me behind, you Jerk!" An especially hard punch makes it past Ford's defense and hits his cheekbone. "It was supposed to be us forever! I- I can't live like that, Sixer!" he roars and grabs the older twin by the front of his shirt, shakes him, violently at first but a few seconds later there is already no more force behind hind as he feels the fire of his rage turn into embers in his chest, quietly searing a hole into him. "I don't want to be alone..."

Slowly, very slowly does Ford lower his arms, peeks out at Stan and Stan knows he messed up when he sees Ford's expression, sees that Ford doesn't understand because no matter how hard he tries he never truly does because he's not about feelings he's about logic! But feelings just aren't logical so why does he keep expecting things from his brother that he is well aware don't lie within his abilities? Oh god and now he wishes he hadn't said anything but it's too late for regret now. He was just so, so angry.

"But.." Ford starts, hesitates for a moment as he lowers his hands to his face and gingerly touches the red and swollen parts that will definitely bruise, too shocked to react appropriately and retaliate, mind obviously racing to make sense of something he just isn't equipped to understand. "But Dr. Evergreen would be th-"

" _FUCK_ Evergreen!" Stan thunders and gives Ford another shake before he presses him harder into the sand beneath them. “I hate that he's got the same name as you, I hate that he has the same hands, same eyes, I- I hate how much his voice sounds like you when I don't listen carefully, and most of all I hate that you're so fucking obsessed with him!” Stan shakes his head violently, wants to ignore the heat building in his face. "You don't know what he did, Poindexter. You didn't see the kind of person the manipulative old slimebag really is. You weren't there. You weren't _there_ and I really needed you!" he sees Ford's eyes widen and his mouth open like he wants to say something but can't find the words for once before suddenly something drops down into his face, makes him wince almost as if it was acid and only a few drops later does Stan notices he couldn't hold it back. He's crying.

"It- It- hurt- so, so much!" Stan whimpers and Ford slowly, carefully reaches up to brush some of the hair out of Stan's face and Stan can't help himself. He already messed up so badly and it's the last day so what does he have left to lose? Ford doesn't know enough about love to realize he is about to be kissed when Stan leans over him but he freezes instantly when it happens. He doesn't reciprocate it and it makes Stan feel dirty, reminds him of things he doesn't want to think about as he presses their lips together innocently, tries not to sob against his brother's mouth before he pulls back and starts bawling. Stan lays his head against Ford's chest and just cries himself out and while Ford doesn't push him away he doesn't touch or console him either. 

All that's left is the sound of the ocean, a warm breeze ruffling their hair, and Stan's quiet plea to not leave him behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got a little longer than I thought it would be and maybe also a little dark but whatever. Also, I find it super annoying when fics end with "And then they fucked and lived happily ever after, lol. Depravity over and out.


	4. One of Many 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, after breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short little extra that I only ever posted this on tumblr but with everything that's going on there I might as well put it here, too. Just in case.

“Not you,” Stanford says and grabs Stan by the arm, stops him from leaving the kitchen with the other Stans. While the old man doesn’t look or sound angry Stan still immediately knows he is in trouble. He was so glad to have been saved, spared the fate of those being rented by Ricks for a little while longer but now he knows he celebrated his luck too early.

“Do…” he swallows, forces himself to smile, to look up and make eye contact with the man who kidnapped him as the other Stans scurry past him, pointedly avoiding him. Thanks for nothing, dickbags. “Do you need something? Want me to bake you a cake or something?” he quips. He can’t bake for shit but he doesn’t need to because humor is how they all deal with their fucked up situation. Only it's hard to be genuinely funny when your heart isn't in it but generally more in the vicinity of your throat, he supposes.

Stanford doesn’t answer. Just gives Stan's arm a firm tug that forces him to stumble back inside the kitchen and before he knows it he has been hoisted up. He squawks, startled that the old man can lift him this easily, and sat on the table where he had breakfast with the older kids and young teen Stans like himself just a few minutes earlier. His pulse is pounding in his ears and he thinks about that older Stan who wouldn’t listen. The one that constantly complained and insisted that he be sent back home, that Stanford was evil. The one now floating lifeless somewhere in space.

Stan clenches his eyes shut, reminds himself that he did nothing wrong, that the Stan who took charge of the kitchen offered himself. _On his own._ He didn’t ask for that, it’s not his fault! It-

Stanford lifts the boy’s hand and turns it over, thumbs over the number written in black marker on its back.

“You’ve been here for 8 months and you still need to write it on your hand to remember it?” It doesn’t sound all that accusatory, a little sympathetic even, yet Stan feels embarrassed when he is called out. But he doesn’ apologize or deny it. He knows what this old Ford is trying to say but 051 is an ugly number and hard to remember. He isn’t stupid. Well, not _that_ stupid anyway.

And he isn’t naive either. He knows all too well what this place is, what happens here every day but just like everyone else, he decided to turn a blind eye when he himself isn’t involved. It makes living here easier. Up until the point when it’s _your turn_ , when you are the one looking for help and you find yourself in the blind spot of those you share everything with. It’s strange, imagining himself in the place of one of those Stan’s this Ford pays special attention to. One of those others try to comfort when he comes back, looking like…

_Looking fucked._

A shiver runs through his chest but he doesn’t have much time to think himself into a panic. Before he can decide whether or not fighting it is even an option he feels big, broad hands on his round shoulders squeeze him tentatively.

“You’re always so soft…” Stanford murmurs as his hands slide up to cup Stan’s face and Stan recoils ever so slightly tries to turn his head away because he recognizes the gesture. And for a moment Ford actually lets him get away with that before gently tugging him back into place. Still, Stan doesn’t look at him, keeps his gaze fixed on the chair at the far right of the table.

“I know I’m kinda fat, why you gotta-” he grumbles but is interrupted by a fond sigh. Thumbs brush over his cheekbones, palms squish his cheeks together in a way that seems to delight the old man and almost drives the tired annoyance constantly stuck on his face out of his eyes.

“…Am I in trouble?” Stan pries carefully, deciding he’d rather know and be mentally prepared for whatever happens today.

“Do you want to be in trouble?” And now Stanford smiles. It feels unusually genuine for his captor and Stan isn’t sure he likes it. It feels wrong, even though the man appears to be actually a little happy for once.

Stan shakes his head and when the old Ford leans in he squeezes his eyes shut, tenses back up. He tries to pull away again but this time the big hands framing his face hold him firmly in place. Lips touch against his forehead, linger for a moment before they draw back.

“Then you’re not in trouble, Stanley.” the deep voice hums and Stan feels goosebumps rise on his skin. He doesn’t like where this is going and he doesn’t want to be here. He shouldn’t be here. He should be at home where the only person to ever kiss his forehead is Ma. This isn’t fair! He knows he isn’t a great kid but he hasn’t done anything to deserve _this_! He is only 14! He shouldn’t be in this sort of situation!

“Can I go then?” he tries voice hopeful but can’t muster up more than a shaky grin.

“Do you know what Ricks do with Stans?”

It’s out of the blue and takes Stan by surprise. “… S-sex?” he stutters out hesitantly and feels an unnerving warmth climb to his cheeks. Under other, better circumstances, the word would make him giggle like mad. Here and now it feels threatening.

“ _Sex_ , yes. In 65% of cases that is their goal. The other 35% are made up of equal parts lonely old men just looking for someone to talk, drink and have fun with who isn’t a Morty or another Rick, and Ricks who think about much darker things than fucking you.”

A jolt like electricity runs through Stan when the old man says that last bit like he is talking about throwing fruit into a blender. The alarm and uncertainty that make his pulse race in his ears must show on his face because Ford slides a hand up from Stan’s cheek into his hair, slowly rubs the pads of his fingers over his scalp to the back of his head. The way he lightly scratches him there feels strangely enough rather pleasant but he still doesn’t want any of it, would rather Ford dropped it and let him go join the others already.

“Does that scare you?” the old man inquires and Stan doesn’t know how to reply to that, swallows with some difficulty and attempts to will the rising heat out of his eyes. “What do you think would this Rick have done with you if 039 didn’t step in?”

Stan bites his lip, tries not to think about what is happening to that brave Stan right now. “Nothing good,” he mutters because specifics are the enemy and all too suddenly the hand that lazily ruffled the hair at the back of his head becomes a tight fist, painfully pulls his head back and before he can even think to yelp, to protest Stanford is on top of him.

A warm mouth seals his lips, a grown man’s hands hold his face in place, a broad body cages him against the table. Stan fists both hands into the older man’s sweater, forces himself to keep them there and remember the long row of empty graves outside of the base and imagine what being spaced must feel like. Stanford’s mouth works lazily against his lips and for a brief moment he can’t help but think _”ah, so that’s what kissing is like”_ and feels sorry for himself. He doesn’t want a part in this yet fighting it isn’t an option either.

Stan clenches his jaw shut as hard as he can when he feels Ford’s tongue work between his lips, shudders when it touches and rubs against his gums, surprised by how sensitive they can be, and almost distracted enough to not notice that those big hands aren’t framing his face anymore.

Hands hands hands hands everywhere! Touching him, squeezing him, stroking him. Stupid fucking _HANDS_!! Fucks those hands, fuck the perverted old man, fuck everything he does! He tries so hard not to think about any of this but especially the hands groping him but he just can't his mind far enough away from the situation. Think. Think about anything _but_ those hands. Think about the other Stans! But in his mind even they talk about nothing but the man behind those damn hands.

 _‘The old Stanford isn’t very hard to figure out’_ , that’s what everyone here keeps saying. Most Stans say he does it all in the pursuit of the perfect Stan, the perfect brother. And until he finds what he is looking for he will keep going, until a Stan can give him what he needs, _can be_ what he needs he will drag more and more Stan’s into his little hell. Others say that the man is simply insane and has no reason and hence will never stop or understand. There are even some who think the old man created this place simply to gain influence with the Citadel of Ricks, maybe to pay for his expensive hobby of dimension travel.

But right now Stanford’s reasons don’t actually matter, do they? Even if someone could figure the man out, even if Stan himself could, nothign is going to stop those hands.

Still, if there is one thing Stan is sure of, it’s that what this guy wants isn’t just someone who willingly does all the naughty stuff with him, he knows for a fact that some of the Stan’s here genuinely enjoy it and when Ford nibbles on his bottom lip, tugs on it before he tries once more to coax Stan into opening up for him, one hand resting on the boys pillowy hip and the other cupping a plump breast and gently massaging it, Stan can see why. He doesn’t want it but he can see the benefit of surrendering to it. And it’s not like resisting will do him in any good. Quite the opposite.

Slowly, hesitantly Stan opens his mouth and Ford doesn’t miss a beat, kisses him deeper and harder and for a second the boy forgets how to breathe, overwhelmed by the sudden taste of bitter coffee, the intensity of the sensation of a foreign tongue in his mouth and struggling beneath the bigger body blocking his escape. His fingers dig into Ford’s shoulders but he does his best to try and not fight the old man. When Ford finally relents and pulls back Stan gasps for breath and Ford looks incredibly pleased with himself.

“It’s alright,” he whispers and pecks a kiss onto Stan’s lips. “You’ll be fine.” and then another. “I won’t do anything bad, okay?” and another small peck followed by a longer but still rather chaste kiss that Stan slowly melts into despite his awareness of those six-fingered hands that alarmingly won’t stop groping his chest and stomach.

It’s strange and maybe he feels a little queasy as Stanford’s tongue swipes back into his mouth and he tries to keep track of everything that is happening to him, of all the new sensations. And then the hands stray down further onto his thighs, push them open. Stan immediately turns his head away and does what he told himself he wouldn’t do. _He fights it._

__

Unbidden images of a Stan much younger than himself curling in on himself and crying hysterically as he’s being carried out of Ford’s study by an older Stan flood his mind, of sitting in front of the TV with a few others and hearing a Stan’s moans and sobs and the smack of skin against skin not far behind him, walking in on a Stan grimacing as he _‘preps’_ himself in the bathroom because the old Ford was irritable and violent that day and someone “had to take one for the team” and lift his mood.

__

And finally, finally, the stinging in his eyes turns into tears.

__

_NO!_ No, he doesn’t want that! He presses his thighs together as tightly as possible and turns his head to avoid that ravaging mouth. Stan breathes fast and shallow as the man above him tries to tug him into a more advantageous position causing Stan to try and kick and punch Stanford.

__

“HELP! SOMEBODY!” he shouts desperately, keeps struggling against the body above him but all Stanford does is try to hold him still, hold him down and… wait. Wait until Stan can feel he’s just tiring himself out. “COME QUICK! HELP! HELP ME!” he continues with panic rising from his gut to his throat until eventually, he stops, wheezing and gasping, lungs burning and feeling… terrified.

__

“Are you done, you knucklehead?” Stanford chastises in a disturbingly gentle tone and lightly kisses Stan’s jaw, before slowly working his way down the side of his throat until he reaches the boy’s clavicle. And all Stan can do is shut his eyes tight and try to quell the burning in his lungs with air as his limbs tingle and feel shockingly heavy.

__

Nobody will come for him. How many times did he hear this exact voice out of the mouth of another, knew what was going on but willingly ignored it? Looking the other way to protect himself seemed like a reasonable thing. Everybody does it. Everybody. That’s just how it is. That is what is best for all of them.

__

“Somebody!” he sobs and coughs as a big strong hand lets go of his wrist to disappear between their bodies and he feels the button of he jeans pop. The garment is tugged down just enough to expose him before the other hand lets go of Stan’s wrist in favor of helping to push Stan’s shirt up and over his chest until it bunches together under his flabby arms.

__

Twelve fingers close over his chest and Stan glances up at the man above him in time to see him lick his lips as he squeezes Stan, see him hesitate before he mutters “Love your tits, baby.” Stanford doesn’t sound very confident, almost stutters but Stan doesn’t get to contemplate that before the old man slides lower between his legs to swirl his tongue around a dark little nipple and suck on it, squeeze and rub Stan’s chest just hard enough to be uncomfortable and make this amazing warmth pool in his lower half.

__

Stan knows exactly what that means and he is terrified which conflicts harshly with the parts of him that seem to… to enjoy-

__

Stanford takes the nipple he’s been tending to between his teeth and Stan almost jumps, kicks his legs again, wiggles his hips as he whimpers and moans before the old man lets go and gives it one last lick before coming back up to kiss his mouth.

__

“So sensitive…” he all but purrs and then Stan feels something hot and hard against his doughy belly, rubbing back and forth against the soft yet slightly hairy skin covering his chubb and Stan realizes the old man must have pulled his dick out while Stan was busy trying not to get overwhelmed by- well, the- the tits thing.

__

Lazy but steady is the rhythm Stanford builds as he rocks against the boy, pressing against the pliable body beneath him, breathing wetly against Stan’s ear and occasionally roaming his hands over the kid’s ass, brushes a finger through the crevice or spreads the round cheeks and every time it happens Stan holds his breath, expecting to be penetrated but it doesn’t happen.

__

Eventually, Stanford grinds himself to completion, spills hot and sticky between their bodies and forces a harsh kiss on him, pushes his tongue in sloppily before transitioning into long almost sluggishly chaste kisses as he winds down until he is relaxed. And then, suddenly, he stands back up straight, eyes taking in the sight of Stan as his breathing evens out. Stan imagines he looks pretty messed up and sniffles once, wondering if he can leave now, if it’s safe to jump up himself and bolt for the door.

__

Ford swipes his finger through the cum with two fingers and holds it up to the kid’s face. The gesture makes what he wants from Stan obvious but Stan- he can’t- _He can’t!_

__

“Stanley,” Stanford sighs and pushes his fingers more insistently against the boys plush lips, red and swollen from all the kisses he endured. Stan almost shakes his head when one of Stanford’s hands grabs the boy by his hair and tugs on it hard, holds him in place as he shoves the wet fingers between Stan’s lips and Stan grimaces, opens his mouth to complain but the fingers push in deeper and press onto his tongue.

__

Stan almost bites him. Almost. It tastes disgusting. He tasted worse things in his life but that doesn’t make this taste any better. It’s salty and rather bitter, acidic even and Stan gags. _That’s semen, the old Stanford’s nasty ass semen,_ he thinks which only fuels his nausea and he waits for the fingers to retreat but they don’t. Why? What is he doing wrong now? He blinks and looks up at Stanford who starts to smile and rubs his fingers over the boy’s tongue.

__

Oh. Stan closes his mouth around the fingers and tries to suck, gags and coughs again which accidentally manages to make him tear up once more, makes his nose run but Stanford doesn’t seem all that bothered. He continues feeding Stan the spunk from his stomach like that until he is finally satisfied and lets go of Stan’s hair.

__

And just like that, he turns on his heel and leaves the kitchen and with that Stan behind. Sitting bare-assed on the kitchen table with his jeans and boxers still clinging to his thighs, his face swollen and wet with a mix of tears mucus and saliva, nipples erect and dick still half hard, and he feels like he might throw up any second but simultaneously kind of removed enough from the situation to feel numb to it all.

__

This just happened. This really just happened. He lowers his head and looks at the ink on the back of his hand, the 051 that is so hard to remember. _This is his life now._

__

It doesn’t take long for about a dozen Stan’s to come in, some almost jogging to check up on him, others keeping a distance, not wanting to crowd him but ready to assist when needed and Stan assures them he’s fine even though he knows he isn’t, feels like used gum that’s been spit on the floor. It takes him far too long to get off the table and remember to hastily pull his pants up. Another, older Stan with pretty long hair rolls his shirt down for him and advises him to take a shower.

__

“Long hot showers always make me feel better afterward,” he says and hesitates to ruffle Stan’s hair before he takes his hand back, suddenly unsure whether body contact would feel comforting or threatening after what happened.

__

Stan just nods stiffly and leaves the kitchen but to his surprise two little Stans follow him, and once the older Stans are out of earshot one of them keeps asking “Did he stick it in your butt?” over and over and comments on it with an unnerving nonchalance “Hurts when he does that, doesn’t it? Did he blow a raspberry on your belly? Yeah? Did he stick it all the way in or just a little? Because sometimes he does it just a little when I cry a lot! Did he stick it all the way in your butt? Did it hurt?”

__

The little boy asks it in such a cheery and excited voice, with such innocent curiosity that Stan starts to feel lightheaded and a little faint, he staggers and the quieter boy has to jump out of the way when Stan can’t hold it in anymore. He vomits his breakfast onto the shiny clean wooden floor before he is anywhere near one of the bathrooms.

__

**Author's Note:**

> If you are reading this you probably read some depraved bullshit. You're welcome.


End file.
